


dead and the gold

by Icarus_is_flying



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Obi-Wan Kenobi, Canon Divergence - Order 66, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, Force Shenanigans, Gen, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Order 66 happens in The Phantom Menance, Padawan Anakin Skywalker, Sith Hunter Obi-Wan, a very slow burning fix-it, no ships only drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 115,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21999658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icarus_is_flying/pseuds/Icarus_is_flying
Summary: The Republic is in turmoil. In the wake of the harrowing Naboo Crisis, Chancellor Valorum has seized control of the Trade Federation’s droid armies. A failed coup has branded the Jedi Order as traitors. Thousands of Jedi are dead. The rest, fugitives.Alarmed by the Senate’s aggression, systems scramble to forge new alliances. Everyone’s loyalty is in question.Obi-Wan Kenobi, on the run with his new padawan Anakin Skywalker, knows their time is running out. He makes a desperate ploy to contact what may be a powerful ally or a dangerous foe...
Relationships: Dooku & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 403
Kudos: 575





	1. The Jedi

The passenger liner dropped out of hyperspace with a sickening lurch. Obi-Wan Kenobi leaned closer to the viewport as the grey-green planet he'd worked so hard to reach drew closer. Continents covered most of the planet beneath long bands of wispy clouds, and forest and mountains gave the surface an uneven bent. He glanced at the grey curvature of the horizon. A dreadnought drifted near the second moon, standing sentinel over the quiet planet below. It was massive in scale and definite in its sentinel promise. 

Obi-Wan slumped in his seat and ran a hand over his recently grown beard. A Force suggestion wrapped around him like a cloak, the prayer of “ignore ignore ignore.” The other passengers on the system-to-system liner weren’t paying him any mind, but he wasn’t in the clear yet. His lightsaber rested inside his second-hand civilian clothes, but the weight of it felt like a beacon. 

The young Jedi knight slumped lower in his seat. Unhindered, the transport ship sailed past the watchful eye of the dreadnought and slipped into the atmosphere. 

He’d left Anakin tucked in a small safehouse on Ord Radama with a pack of supplies, a burner comlink, and clear instructions: “Stay hidden. Stay safe.” 

Was the boy safe? Had he listened and stayed inside where those damned droids wouldn't find him? Obi-Wan shook his head. He couldn’t worry about that now. He had to focus on the present, or they were both lost. 

The ship shuddered but held steady. Twenty minutes later, they flew over a choppy sea full of islands and reefs and white water to land where they set down in a bustling, spired city. Carannia. When the entry ramp hissed open, cool air rushed. Obi-Wan peered out the viewport at the bustling spaceport. Sentients, droids, civilians, and security crisscrossed the station with the hum and bustle of commerce of all spaceports. So was this Serenno. He had never been to the system before, but if everything went according to plan, he’d be seeing a lot more of it. If not… it might be the last place he saw. 

He stood and grabbed his small traveler’s sack from under his seat. There wasn’t much in it—a change of shirt, some forged papers, a few Republic credits that might not be worth their weight in metal here—but the pack helped him blend in. 

He fell in line with the other passengers. At the exit, a customs officer in a grey suit and a security droid took up a post. 

“Identification. Identification please.” 

Obi-Wan cursed under his breath. He hadn’t expected a papers check before they got off the ship. He’d snuck on to this transport on Yavin so he wouldn’t have to show ID. He had old ones—forged of course—but they wouldn’t do on a planet whose security included a dreadnought in orbit. 

Blast. 

He glanced around. There were a few families, a woman with two attendants, a Twi’lek who looked like he might be a petty government official. All easy pickings. Then further back in the line, he spied a sour-faced man in fine robes. 

“What is taking so long?“ the man demanded, pushing through a cluster of travelers with the air of someone used to being important in his corner of the galaxy.

Perfect. 

Obi-Wan made a show of patting down his tunic and pants then ducked out of line and made his way back towards his seat. “Pardon me. Pardon. So sorry, I’ve left my things,” until he reached the man. There was a slight bulge at his right hip and under a fine outer robe—his identification. 

Obi-Wan purposefully knocked shoulders with a young Rodian father holding a toddler. 

“Hey!”

The Jedi backed towards his target and kept his eyes on the Rodians. “I’m so sorry. Clumsy of me.” 

The father bounced the child, who didn’t look in the least perturbed. “No harm done.”

Still apologizing, Obi-Wan backed into the rich man and slipped his hand into the man’s pocket. 

“Watch where you’re going!” The man shoved him off, and Obi-Wan backed away, bowing and apologizing profusely as he pocketed the identification papers. “So sorry. So sorry.” 

The man dusted himself off and muttered loudly about local riff-raff. Too easy. Obi-Wan made his way back into the line off the ship and glanced at his new identity. There was no photo attached. This would be easier than he thought. He smoothed out his new identity as Hatro Dan, regional administrator on Mimban. With his second-hand tunic and coat, the Jedi hardly looked the part of a regional anything, but if he didn’t know where Mimban was, the customs officer might not either. 

The officer waved to him. “Next.”

He stepped up and handed over his misidentification. The human officer looked it over, at Obi-Wan, then back at the papers. Flashing his most charming smile, the Jedi leaned in with the Force, willing to man to look the other way. “Everything is in order.”

It was risky. But everything was risky these days, and he had to get off this ship. 

The officer’s face went blank for a moment then he handed back the ID and waved. “Everything is in order. Next.”

Obi-Wan walked down the ramp and into the open, buzzing spaceport with purpose, trying not to walk too fast and draw attention. He wove through bustling crowds of workers, making for the other side of the port. With the recent tension between the Rim Worlds and the Republic, most of the traffic was cargo. There were precious few passenger ships, which made blending in harder. 

Outside the port, the city soared in all directions, the tops of tall spires lost in low clouds. The city was grey but lively, the smell of salt and open-air market food pervasive. Obi-Wan’s stomach growled, but he didn’t have time to stop for food. He’d left most of his credits with Anakin anyway. 

Instead, he stopped a Rodian woman and asked for directions to the public transit. From what little research he had scraped together, public transit was free here and would get him to the edge of the city. From there he’d have to start asking for directions since maps of Serenno were hard to come by. He missed the Archives at the Temple and their millennia wealth of knowledge.

A low miasma of anxiety pervaded the city, much like the rest of the Galaxy. The Republic hadn’t felt steady in a long time, despite the Senate's attempts to stabilize the Mid Rim with their new droid armies. The Senate’s sudden decisiveness made a lot of systems uneasy, but Serenno seemed confident in its dreadnought protection overhead. The ruling houses must have cut deep into their coffers to afford such things. 

The streets were old but well organized, and he was able to find the transit station where he waited with a handful of other passengers. The cool air echoed with the noise of the city. Obi-Wan took a deep breath, and the smell of fuel and the nearby sea mingled in his nose. 

Were there other Jedi on Serenno? Other survivors? He couldn’t sense any close by, but he didn’t dare reach too far to look. 

Stay small. Stay quiet. That’s how he and Anakin had survived the past six months as they hopped from planet to planet. It wasn’t the life Qui-Gon had meant for the boy. But there wasn’t any way he could have seen it coming. No one had. 

He reached the transit terminal a few minutes later. Serenno had ships that passed between the major cities, but inside Carannia public high-speed trains were the main transport. Inside the station, he found the line going to the north edge of the city. A few moments later the train sped into the station, and he watched his reflection warp and break then slowly solidify in the windows as the train screeched to a halt. The Force rippled, and he glanced left. Coming down the platform was a security droid, the same make and model as at the spaceport. It was holding a datapad and speaking with the other civilians, working its way towards him. That looked like something he wanted to avoid.

The doors slid open, and Obi-Wan stepped onto the train where he tucked himself into a corner and grabbed the overhead handles. A few more passengers loaded in, and the doors hissed shut, and they were away. Something played over the speakers, and he glanced up. On a wall-mounted holo-screen was a still image of Mas Amedda, Chancellor Valorum’s new right hand, and his sycophantic voice played with a buzzy drone. 

“The Chancellor is determined to provide the citizens of the Republic with security and stability in these trying times.” Feedback buzzed across the screen and garbled the words. “—standing warrant for all fugitive Jedi. Adherents of the former Jedi Order are extremely dangerous and threaten the peace we have worked tirelessly to preserve. Even now they are forming new cells, festering rebellion that threatens us all. Any information leading to the apprehension of one of these traitors—“ 

Obi-Wan ducked his head and tried to ignore the weight of Qui-Gon’s lightsaber. None of the other passengers seemed to be paying anyone else any kind. Nobody here was looking for Jedi. They wouldn’t see him if they weren’t looking for him. 

Then the recording was over, and Amedda’s voice was replaced with two local holo jockeys. 

“I just don’t see it, Corl. Traitors? All of ‘em?” 

“You say that, but you never met one. Spooky kriffing—”

Obi-Wan looked out the window, watching the city rush past. He’d heard rumors of other survivors of the Purge. That there were a few of their number trying to start over, setting up secret places where they could hide and teach the children they had saved. He had thought of taking Anakin there, briefly. But with the Republic doubling down on its warrants for Jedi, and the droid armies growing every day, Obi-Wan wasn’t sure congregating was the right choice. They were Jedi still, Jedi to the end, but forging a new place for them wasn't his path. There were three things he knew for certain.

The Sith had returned. 

He had promised to train the boy. 

The Sith could never be allowed to find Anakin. 

The train slowed and squealed to a stop. Obi-Wan braced himself against the forward pitch. As a prerecorded voice announced the stop, the doors hissed open, and a few civilians filtered on and off. 

He was doing the right thing. He was doing the right thing. 

“Hey!”

Obi-Wan whipped his head toward the voice. Seated at the front of the car was the sour-faced administrator. The man leaped to his feet and stabbed a finger at Obi-Wan. “He ran into me at the landing platform. He stole my papers!”

With him where two security officers. Officers with stun pistols at their hips. 

“Kriff.” Obi-Wan dove through the doors as they closed, leaving the administrator and the droids inside the now moving train. He sprinted off the platform into the street, shouldering past passengers. A droid demanded he stop and identify himself. Not bloody likely. 

He veered off down a side street. He’d made it this far and for what? To get arrested by the first lawman who laid eyes on him. Sloppy. Stupid. He couldn’t get caught. Just because Serenno harbored no love of the Republic didn’t mean they wouldn’t turn him over as a fugitive.

The Force screamed a warning, and he veered right, swerving past small carts and bowling over someone in a uniform. Sirens started up in the distance. 

There had to be a place he could hide, lie low. Long enough to make everyone lose interest and he could—

Something slammed into him. Obi-Wan flew through the air and hit the ground hard. He tumbling over and over and slammed into a tree along the boulevard. Pain exploded across his back and arm, and he hit the ground in a heap. Groaning, he forced himself to one knee. His lightsaber. He slapped blindly at his tunic. Where was the lightsaber? 

He staggered to his feet, and the pain shooting through his body sent him reeling into the tree. Three vehicles with lights and wailing sirens surrounded him.

“This is the Serenno Security Task Force,” a mechanical voice announced. “Raise your hands in the air.”

Damn. 

***

The officers escorted Obi-Wan to a holding cell where they shackled his wrists together and chained the cuffs to the cold duracreet floor. His left shoulder hurt from hitting the ground while his ribs ached where he'd collided with the patrol vehicle. He hadn’t seen what happened to the lightsaber, but he certainly didn’t have it now. 

Obi-Wan spit blood and saliva and smeared his bloodied nose on his wrist. It stung. Another fine mess he’d gotten himself into. At least with the swelling, he couldn’t smell the stench all jail cells seemed to have in common. Why did he always end up here? 

He tugged his chain to its full meter of length and examined his cell, the door and lock. There wasn’t a window in sight, and with the chain barely long enough for him to stand upright, he couldn’t get a good look down the hall to check the state of the security. The scratch marks about the door frame told him others had tried and failed in that exit, and with a better idea of what was waiting outside, it would be foolish to try. He sat down hard on the floor and ran his hands down his face. 

Blast. 

He didn't have time for this. He’d left Anakin with clear instructions: if Obi-Wan was gone longer than seven rotations, the boy wouldn’t be there when he got back. Getting to Serenno had taken two. 

He had to stop worrying about Anakin. He had to focus on the present. The Jedi closed his eyes and tried to release his anxiety to the Force. 

About an hour later, footsteps echoed in the hall. Obi-Wan lurched out of his meditation to his feet and hissed at pain surging across his shoulder and thighs. 

The Force thinned in the room, like water running out to sea to meet a wave. The door hissed open and in stepped two officers and a tall, elderly man clad all in black. 

Count Dooku. 

Former Jedi Master and Council member. Qui-Gon’s old teacher. Now count of Serenno. He had the imperious air of a man well-aware he had the upper hand, and the Force coiled around him like a snake poised to strike. 

Obi-Wan kept his face neutral. This wasn’t how he’d wanted to have this meeting. 

The count gave Obi-Wan a disinterest once over before he took a datapad from one of the officers and scanned its contents. “I understand you were attempting to sneak into Serenno with stolen identification papers.” His voice was sharp, with the question implied. 

Obi-Wan bowed his head. “I apologize for the pretenses, your grace. Traveling is not the easiest feat these days.” 

“I imagine not. On your arrest, you were also found carrying a lightsaber. You understand the dangerous misunderstanding that could create.” The count sounded as if he were noting the weather instead of weighing Obi-Wan’s life. When the Jedi didn’t respond, he continued, “This is, of course, all a misunderstanding.” He handed the datapad back to the officer. “Which is why you will be releasing this young man into my custody. You will find the fines for the property damage already paid.”

Obi-Wan blinked in surprise, but the officers started like they hadn’t expected to be addressed. “Sir…”

“I do have other places to be, Captain.” The barest hint of irritation slipped into the count's voice, and the officers' unease spiked. They mumbled something about procedure then removed the cuffs. Obi-Wan got slowly to his feet and rubbed his chaffed wrists. He eyed the count, but the man turned on his heel and strode down the hall, cloak snapping behind him. They were escorted through the busy station to a landing pad out where a sleek wind sailer sat idling. The count apparently hadn't planned to be here long. He didn’t break pace. “Officers.” 

Unsure where this was going but not wanting to stay at the security station, Obi-Wan followed the count up the sailer’s ramp. The interior was as spotless as the exterior and large enough for three passengers and a pilot droid, which was already clicking at the dashboard.

The Jedi paused at the top of the ramp. “Your grace…”

“Take a seat.” And Dooku was already seated, his back to Obi-Wan. 

If Dooku meant to turn him over to the Republic's droid armies, he was doing a poor job of it so far. Or maybe not. Obi-Wan had followed him into the ship. The Jedi a seat behind the pilot droid. Once ramp sealed shut, the ship rose into the sky. 

After a long silence, Obi-Wan decided to press his luck. He wouldn’t accomplish anything by sitting in silence. The clock was ticking. 

“I take it you’re not turning me over to the Republic then?”

Dooku made a derisive noise in his throat and turned his chair around to arch an eyebrow at the Jedi. “Hardly. I’ve hoped the Jedi would find their way here, but you are the first to try it. Imagine my surprise when I learned my padawan’s padawan was arrested less than an hour from my home.” 

Obi-Wan flinched internally. It had been a stupid mistake. One he wouldn't make again.

"It's a great pity our paths never crossed before," Dooku continued. "Qui-Gon always spoke very highly of you." He reached into his cloak and produced Qui-Gon’s lightsaber. He weighed it, and a regretful look lined his face. “I was… grieved to hear of his passing.” 

“You know?”

“Yes. The Council had the courtesy to inform me after the battle on Naboo." Even though he had already left the Order by then.

Obi-Wan exhaled slowly, relief and sorrow churning in his chest. Thank the Force he didn’t have to deliver that news. He wasn't sure he could get through the whole story, not yet. He ran a hand over his face, and his bread scratched his palm. “So you know why I’m here.”

Dooku nodded. “I will, of course, shelter you from the Republic’s treachery. What they did to the Jedi… It was madness. You've done well surviving long enough to bring yourself here.” The sorrow in his face and voice were replaced with resolve. A Jedi Sentinel’s resolve. 

Dooku had been Jedi once. It was evident in his posture, in the way the Force hummed in a honed blade around him. Qui-Gon had rarely spoken of his old master, but when he did, Dooku was a paragon, if stubborn Jedi. A master duelist and an exacting but excellent teacher. Then he’d left the Order a few years before Naboo—heretic, traitor, dissenter. Why he’d left and what kind of man he was now…

He didn’t need to know about Anakin, about the prophecy. Not yet. Not until Obi-Wan knew he could be trusted. The Jedi knight leaned forward. “Did Yoda tell you how my master died?”

Dooku gave a wary look. “Only that he was killed during the battle, doing his duty as any Jedi should.”

“The battle droids didn’t do it.” They couldn’t have. Obi-Wan gritted his teeth. “It was a Sith.”

Dooku jerked like he’d been electrocuted, and he was on his feet towering with a snarl over the younger man. “A Sith?”

Obi-Wan nodded. 

“And what became of it?”

“Dead.”

The Force coiled tight around the count, but he had schooled his face again to a grim frown. “You’re certain?”

“He’s dead. I killed him.”

Dooku turned to the front window and crossed his arms in a way very much like Qui-Gon, the dead man's lightsaber still in hand. He scowled into the middle distance, and Obi-Wan leaned back to wait. If Yoda had told the count about Qui-Gon’s death without mentioning the Sith, maybe this was a mistake. But he'd come too far now to stop.

“Master? Or apprentice?” asked the count.

“I don’t know." Obi-Wan shook his head. "But there are always two. Which means there is still a Sith Lord walking free. I don’t know what happened on Coruscant those last few days, but I do not believe that the Jedi would attack the Chancellor. The Council was opening an investigation into the warrior I killed. I believe they found something.”

“So the Sith staged a coup? The Jedi came too close to the truth, so a Sith Lord puppeteered the Senate into destroying the Order?” Dooku sounded unconvinced, but he hadn’t denied the possibility. If it was true, if there was any chance at all, the Jedi or not, the threat was too real to ignore. 

Obi-Wan pressed his advantage. “We thought the Sith were destroyed centuries ago. But one killed my master. The Jedi Order is scattered. It’s not a coincidence.”

“And you think I’ll help you hunt this Sith Lord? I am not a Jedi anymore.”

“But you were. One of the best. Train me, and I will have the strength to do what is necessary."

Still gazing out the window, Dooku leaned in with the Force, sharp and insistent, trying to lay Obi-Wan’s intentions bare. There would be no point in lying. But that didn’t mean he had to give the entire truth. 

“I have a padawan. And there is no one else.”

Dooku held his gaze without flinching, but it was clear neither man would be cowed. Finally, Dooku turned his back to Obi-Wan and gazed out the window at the racing landscape. His reflection looked distant and sharp. “This sounds dangerously close to vengeance..” 

Obi-Wan shrugged. “You are not a Jedi anymore.” 

The faintest smile twitched at Dooku’s lips then vanished, replaced in the count’s reflection by something more calculating. “You are one man. Barely knighted.”

“One is enough. It has to be.”

Dooku turned back to him with narrowed eyes and regarded him for a long time, calculation evident. Then he turned back to the window, and rapidly approaching was a monolithic grey castle atop a cliff. Dooku gestured to a larger ship, a golden-brown sun sailer, then he handed the green lightsaber back to Obi-Wan. “Retrieve your apprentice, and when you return, we will discuss your training.” 

The Jedi bowed and entered the ship. He had to get back to Anakin before the boy disappeared into the Outer Rim never to be seen again. Quickly he got the ship running and guided it out of the hangar and through the atmosphere. A quick swipe over the control panel set the coordinates for Ord Radama, and the ship unfurled its sail-like a beetle wing and slipped into hyperspace. 

Obi-Wan deflated in his seat, his face falling into his hand as he took a shuddering breath. It had worked. Thank the Force, it had worked. 

But he didn’t have time for relief. He had to get to Anakin, and after that, the real work began. 

Obi-Wan straightened and took the controls. “I won’t fail you, Master."


	2. The Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin has been alone for nearly seven days, and Obi-Wan still hasn't come back.

Anakin sat hunched over the table strewn with parts and tools. Under his arm, he clutched a Prowler droid with its wiring exposed. Stupid rusted bolt. He’d been trying to get at the memory core for more than an hour and it wasn’t working. He wanted to add the extra memory board he’d found in a junk pile on Yavin. It would give the droid better long-term recall so she didn't reboot every time she turned on.

He had the Prowler 500–AV-6, or Avee as she insisted—scattered across the table under the bright, bare bulb dangling from the ceiling. The safehouse was a two-room apartment on Ord Radama, a noisy city world. The apartment was even smaller than the house he lived in with Mom, which he wouldn’t have minded if he wasn’t stuck inside. After Obi-Wan left, he couldn’t open the blinds or go outside. In the standard week he’d been hiding here, people had only stopped outside the door twice. Both times he’d locked himself in the bedroom with Avee until they went away. 

Ord Radama was technically Republic space, but there were no battle droids here. It was safer than some places they’d been—he glanced down at the hole in his tunic hem where a blaster bolt had gone through his clothes and missed him. They were running, like the escaped slaves in the stories whispered at night in the slave quarters. And staying alive and staying free was the most important thing. 

“Besides,” he said to Avee. “There’s a bed. Cupboard’s mostly full. You’ll like it once I get you up and running again.” He popped off the rusty bolt and moved to a worse one that looked corroded through. 

“Well, the cupboard was full.” 

Now he had about three days’ worth left of food. Six, if he stretched it like Mom had taught him.

Anakin gritted his teeth and put all his strength behind the wrench. Obi-Wan could have gotten it off if he was here. He’d left six days ago “to meet with someone.” He couldn’t say who, but if things went well, life would get easier. Less running. More actual training.

The Jedi had gotten down on his knees and handed Anakin a burner commlink that connected not to Obi-Wan but an unknown person Obi-Wan called “the contact.” He'd been very clear. If the Jedi wasn't back by the end of the seventh rotation--or worse, if somebody found him--Anakin was supposed to call the contact. They would make sure he was safe.

_“Why can’t I come?” Anakin had asked. He knew they hadn't gotten along those first few days, but he never thought Obi-Wan would leave him behind. Not for real. ""We're a team."_

_Obi-Wan had sighed and looked very tired. “It's too dangerous. If the man I'm going see betrays me to the Republic, you must not be caught too.”_

_"I'm your padawan."_

_"And my duty as your master is to protect you."_

The bolt popped off and pinged against the far wall. 

Anakin peeled the cover off Avee’s internal circuits, revealing all the bits he’d managed to repair the last few days. Her power core was still cracked and needed replacing. He’d found her in a scrap bin in the cargo bay of the freighter that brought them from Nal Hutta to Ord Radama. Her tracking beacon and old transmitter had already been removed, and the loose wires still stuck out. She’d belonged to the Hutts too. 

Carefully, Anakin pried out a memory board that had been causing problems and replaced it with the newer one. There. 

“When you wake up, your long-term memory should be working again.” 

He set her on the table then got down on the floor to look for the loose bolt. He had to put her back together before he turned her on, or something could shake loose and break. 

_“If I am not back in time, you must use the comm. Do not wait for me.”_

_Anakin had stared at the floor, tracing patterns in the discolored patches on the tile. “Are you going to come back?”_

_Obi-Wan had looked very serious and put one hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “I will come for you, Anakin. I promise.”_

Anakin crawled on his hands and knees, wiping the cold brown floor with his hand. It was a lot less gritty than Tatooine ever was. His knuckle brushed the bolt, and he sat back on his heels and blew the dust off it. He was getting close to the end of day seven, and it made his stomach hurt. 

He found the bolt under the table. 

Obi-Wan had left before, to lose a bounty hunter on their tail or to do a job for credits or a meal or a place to sleep. “He’ll be back,” he said aloud to the droid. “We just have to wait.”

The Force drew around him like cold arms holding him close. Someone was coming. 

Anakin flicked the light off, grabbed Avee and the comlink, and sprinted into the bedroom. Heart racing, he shut the door and shoved a dusty chair against it. 

The front door to the apartment chimed. Locked. 

He grabbed the blaster from beside his bed, crawled into the small closet, and began piecing Avee back together with his fingers. It might be bounty hunters. Or Republic police. Or gang enforcers. He didn’t know which ones of those Ord Radama had, and he wasn’t sure which one was the worst. 

The front door hissed open. Anakin clicked the Prowler’s memory core shut and reconnected a couple wires. 

Come on. Come on. 

The footsteps came into the apartment. Had his trap gone off? Or had the intruder seen the wire and stepped over it? The Force whispered something to him, but he couldn’t hear it over his heart pounding in his ears. He’d forgotten the commlink on the table. 

Avee whirred awake. She wasn’t totally online, but her CPU and electro-arm were functional and that had to be good enough. Her one optic lit up, and she floated out of his hands. She beeped, and Anakin shushed her. 

The footsteps came down the hall. Anakin clutched his blaster and held his breath. Avee extended her electro-arm, and it sparked blue with enough voltage to jump-start a small speeder. He’d fixed her arm, right?

A knock at the bedroom door. Then a muffled, “Anakin? Anakin, it’s all right. It’s me.”

Obi-Wan. 

He'd come back.

Anakin slumped in relief and crawled out of the closet. “I’m here!” He dragged the chair away from the door, and it hissed open. 

When Obi-Wan spied Avee with her arm out and sparking and the blaster dangling from his padawan's hand, the Jedi raised his hands in surrender. “I see that I’m outnumbered.”

Anakin tossed the blaster into the bed and threw his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist. He knew the Jedi didn’t like hugs, but he was so happy to see him alive. “I knew you’d come back.”

Obi-Wan awkwardly patted Anakin on the back. “I gave you my word, didn’t I?”

The Force hummed triumphantly, and the cold feeling in Anakin’s stomach settled into relief. He let go and gestured to Avee. “It’s okay. This is Obi-Wan, remember?”

She beeped and slowly put her arm away. 

“That’s okay. I know your memory wasn’t working so good.”

Obi-wan wasn’t dressed different—some old traveler’s clothes, the beard he’d started growing. But he looked different. He didn’t have as much of the deep-down tired he did before. He cleared his throat. “I’m glad you’re still here. I was worried I might have missed you.” 

“Did it work? Did you find who you were looking for?”

The Jedi nodded. “I did. We’ll be safe there. Though I see you took measures to secure the front door.”

Anakin flushed. "It would have worked on battle droid."

"It certainly would have. The trip wire was good thinking." He gestured around the bedroom. “We don’t want to linger too long. What do you need to pack?” 

Anakin didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed his knapsack and swept his tools into it. A good hydrospanner was hard to find; he wasn’t leaving it behind. Then he stuffed his spare clothes on top and ran out to the kitchen cupboard. Obi-Wan was already standing there, his own pack over one shoulder. “Don’t worry about the food, Anakin. There will be plenty where we’re going.”

Anakin stopped, three tuber roots already in his bag. He squinted. “Really?”

“Yes, really. We will have plenty to eat. And a permanent roof over our head.”

“Oh.” Anakin grabbed an empty crate from against the wall and shoved the remaining supplies into it. “We should give them to the kids down the hall.”

Obi-Wan looked surprised for a moment then gave a small smile and nodded. “Why don’t we leave it outside their door with a note?”

“Okay.” Anakin hefted the crate into the table. “But you write it.” 

“Have you been practicing?”

“Yeah, but my letters are still squishy.” Basic was too angular. Huttese was curvy and easier to write fast. For Basic, he had to slow down so he could tell the words apart. It was hard to keep up with his head so everything came out smushed. 

Anakin ran once through the apartment to make sure he hadn’t missed anything then threw his pack over one shoulder. He’d gotten good at packing fast the past few months. Avee clung to his shoulder, beeping like she expected something to jump out at her. behind him. When he came back into the main room, Obi-Wan had returned from his delivery. He pulled his hood up and gestured for Anakin to follow him. “We need to move quickly.” 

Anakin stuck close to him as they left the apartment complex and made their way down the street. Anakin had to jog to keep up with Obi-Wan’s long legs, but the Jedi seemed to be making sure his padawan stayed in his shadow. 

They wove through the streets until they reached a square. In the middle of the space was a long brown ship with one big glass window, and a pilot droid with a blaster was guarding it.

“Wizard,” Anakin breathed. He’d never seen a ship like that, but it looked expensive. “Did you win it?” 

Obi-wan snorted. “No, I haven’t resorted to ring fighting just yet.”

“You’d be good at it.”

“Anakin…”

But Anakin was already inside the ship. It was sparse. A control board, two seats, and a fold-away berth and shelves, but it was fancy. Almost as fancy as Queen Amidala’s ship had been. But this was much darker and emptier like a pod racer stripped down for speed. 

Obi-Wan secured Anakin’s things, and the two sat down and buckled in while the droid fired up the ship. The powerful humming of the engine was quiet, but he could feel it through the floor. He'd done a lot of space travel in the past few months, but it was still exciting. Anakin grinned. “This is way better than those junkers.”

“Indeed.” 

The droid piloted the ship through the atmosphere then into space, and Anakin watched Ord Radama get smaller and smaller until it vanished into the swirling light of hyperspace. He wasn't going to miss it at all.

Anakin unlocked his chair and spun toward Obi-Wan. “So where are we going?”

“Serenno. It’s not far from here.”

“Is that where your friend lives?”

“Yes. His name is Dooku, and he was…” Obi-Wan paused for a second. “He was a Jedi. Qui-Gon’s master.”

Anakin blinked. He wasn’t sure how many standard years Qui-Gon lived, but he had been plenty old. His master had to be _old_ old. 

Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched. “Yes, he is quite old. But the Republic won’t come looking for us.”

“But if he’s a Jedi, won’t they want to arrest him too?”

“It would probably be wise for them to, but no, he left the Order to take up his family title. He’s a count now, and at the moment, the Senate doesn’t have the luxury of making new enemies.”

The flight was long. So long that Anakin finished fixing Avee and poked around the new pilot droid that said its name was FA-4-163. It told him all about the ship—a Punworcca 116-class interstellar sloop, a solar sailer. He’d guessed the engine wrong, but the droid had the specs for it on a hologram. 

They meditated and ate a quick meal, and the ship was still rushing through hyperspace. 

He looked at the schematics a little longer before Obi-Wan pulled down the berth and made Anakin go to bed even though he wasn’t tired. Avee settled under his arm and powered down, and the hum of the engine lulled him to sleep.

*** 

Anakin was standing at the edge of town. The sand shifted under his bare feet, and the desert stretched out to the two setting suns and the pink-red sky. Tatooine. 

But he wasn’t hot. He was cold. Very, very cold. 

“Anakin.”

Mom?

He turned his back to the desert, but his feet were heavy and moved slowly. “Mom?”

The town was already dark, and the buildings cast long shadows that seemed to reach for him. But the sun was behind him. Why were the shadows coming towards him? 

A gust of cold wind whipped down the street, pelting him with sand. “Anakin, I can’t find you.”

“Mom!” He put up his arms to protect his face and dragged his feet one step. Then another. “Mom, I’m here!”

“Where are you?” She sounded scared. 

He had to find her. He had to help her. He staggered another three steps. 

“Anakin, stop!” 

Qui-Gon.

He froze. 

The wind gusted harder, colder. The hair on his arms stood on end, and his stomach turned in knots. His mother’s voice came again. Louder. More desperate. “Anakin, where are you?”

The light was almost gone. He glanced over his shoulder, and the last sun was a sliver on the horizon. A few more minutes, and it would be totally dark. He wouldn’t be able to find his mom in the dark. 

He turned back to town, but all the houses were gone. Just sand for miles and miles and miles and the night straining for him.

Qui-gon’s voice came in his ear. “Anakin, wake up.”

He backed away, slogging through the sand towards the sun. His legs trembled. Why couldn’t he run? 

The wind whistled in his ears, full of voices. 

“Anakin.”

“Where?”

“Where are you?”

“ANAKIN!”

He sat bolt upright, shaking. Obi-Wan was holding his shoulders with a concerned look on his face. “It’s all right. It’s all right.”

He wasn’t on Tatooine. He was on the ship heading for a safe place. Anakin rubbed at his face.

Obi-Wan pulled his hands back but still hovered nearby. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. I… I think.”

“Did you have the dream again?”

Anakin nodded and pushed off the blanket. He didn’t want to sleep anymore. 

A serious look furrowed Obi-Wan’s face, and it looked strange with his new beard. “Do you want to practice that meditation I taught you?”

He didn’t like sitting still, but there was a sick feeling in his stomach. The meditation helped sometimes. “Okay.” Anakin crawled off the bed and fished his meditation cube out of his pack. It was an empty data cube Obi-Wan had cleaned out and sealed into a smooth, solid piece. It have him something to do with his hands, and that helped him think. Avee hovered nearby and beeped nervously. 

The padawan sat cross-legged on the floor across from Obi-Wan, who nodded. "When you're ready."

Anakin shut his eyes. “I am one with the Force. The Force is with me. I am one with the Force. The Force protects me. I am one with the Force…”

He whispered the words over and over again, turning the cool metal cube in his hand. Outside the ship was the vastness of space. Big and empty and cold like the night in his dream, but inside, he and Obi-Wan were bright. He thought about the walls of the ship, and in his mind, he made them thicker and stronger. So strong that the brightness couldn’t get out, and the dark couldn’t get in. Then came the feeling of a warm blanket being pulled around him. The cold, churning feeling in his stomach settled, and he knew the Force was with him. 

He opened his eyes. “Did it work?”

Obi-Wan still had his eyes closed, but he raised his eyebrows. “Did it?”

“I think so. I feel better.”

“Well done, padawan.” He nodded to the window, eyes still closed. “We’re here.”

Anakin scrambled to his feet and ran to the viewport. The pilot droid brought the ship out of hyperspace, and in the distance was a grey planet with little patches of green and lots of clouds. 

“Is that Serenno?”

“That is correct, sir,” said the droid. 

Serenno. Anakin had never heard of it, which meant the pilots and traders that stopped on Tatooine didn’t get here. They had to be on the other end of the galaxy. 

They passed by the moons and a huge ship that cast a long shadow across the sea of the planet below. It wasn’t as big as the Trade Federation ship he’d helped blow up, but it looked dangerous. It had a lot of guns. Anakin pointed to it. “What’s that?”

“It’s a dreadnought. A military ship. _The Invisible Hand_ , I believe it’s called,” said Obi-Wan. He had gotten up and was buckling landing. 

“Why do they have a military ship?” 

“Security.” He pressed his mouth into a thin line. “There are a lot of planets very angry with the Senate now, and I imagine many of them will be following the count’s lead.”

“Isn’t that a good thing, so they can protect themselves?”

“Perhaps. But a galaxy of systems rushing to arm themselves means more chances of someone pulling the trigger.” 

Anakin wasn’t sure what that meant, but it didn’t sound good. He pulled himself away from the glass and buckled in. 

They approached a tall black tower with green windows surrounded by relay towers as big as trees. It sat on top of a sheer cliff with a forest at the bottom. Did it rain here too? 

A set of doors opened in the cliff face just under the castle, and the ship slipped inside and set down in a hangar bay. 

Obi-Wan led Anakin off the ship, and there was an LEP droid waiting for them. It was about as tall as Anakin, but its rabbit-like ears made it taller. It handed Obi-Wan a datapad then toddled away, leading them into a turbo lift that carried them up, up, up to a long hall that looked big enough to turn a speeder in. The walls and floor were dark with big windows that let in so much light there didn’t seem to be any artificial lights of any kind. A wide staircase led up to the second floor, and on the walls were great paintings of stern people but no real people or droids walking around. Avee floated along just behind Anakin’s head, whirring quietly to herself, and the humans’ footsteps echoed. The palace--it had to be, even if it wasn’t as big as Theed--made Anakin feel very small. He swallowed and reached for Obi-Wan, but the Jedi was already striding away. 

“Wait for me!” Anakin sprinted after him and caught the edge of his cloak, and Obi-Wan glanced down. 

“You all right, Anakin?”

“Yeah. Is this where the count lives?” 

“It is.”

“Are we gonna live here?”

“Yes.”

They followed the service droid into another turbolift that took them up a lot of floors. It slowed and stopped and the doors slid open, revealing a short hallway and some double doors. Through the doors was another big room with couches and a table, a blue rug, shelves full of books and odd-looking boxes, and wall hanging. And there were more huge windows with a balcony outside. 

Scrolling through the datapad, Obi-Wan walked into the room and gestured around. “It seems the count was called away on business, but his message says this is where we’ll be staying. That—" he pointed to yet another door. “--is your bedroom. You can put your things in there.”

Anakin blinked and spun around slowly to take everything in. “We’re staying here?”

“The castle is mostly unoccupied, so we can do what we like with these rooms.” 

“Really? Wow.” Anakin sprinted for the door to his room. Inside was a bedroom about as big as the entire apartment he’d holed up in on Ord Radama. It had a bed big enough to fit six of him and lots of shelves and what looked like his own refresher. Whoever this count was, he sure was rich. Richer than Jabba maybe. He'd have to ask. 

He tossed his bag on the bed—he’d unpack it later. Then he ran back out to the living room, Avee floating after him, and to the balcony. He leaned over the railing and could see down the dizzying drop to the forest below. How far down was it? In the distance, maybe five klicks away, was a silver city with pointy buildings and past it was a sea sparkling like a mirror. 

Anakin ran back inside. “Did you see this?” 

Obi-Wan pointed to another door. “That will be my room, and we’ll share this middle space.”

“How long will we be here?”

“Quite a while, I think. No more running from planet to planet like thieves in the night.”

“And nobody will find us?”

“No.” Obi-Wan smiled. A real smile, without any of the secret tiredness or worry. “You're safe.”

Anakin threw his arms up. “Whoo-hoo!” 

They'd made it. Things were finally looking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anakin would win Space Home Alone, but Obi-Wan, expert trap springer, is an outlier and should not have been counted.


	3. The Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan begins his training, and Anakin makes a new friend.

Obi-Wan hit the ground hard, and the sudden force knocked the wind out of him. He lay there for a moment, staring up at the grey-blue sky, feeling the pain radiate through his shoulders. The courtyard brickwork pressed into his back. In the periphery of his vision towered the black monolith of the castle.

Dooku’s heeled boots clicked on the brick. “Again.” 

Suppressing a groan, Obi-Wan rolled back over his shoulder to his feet, smeared the sweat from his forehead, and took a starting stance for the fourth time that morning. Feet shoulder-width apart. Chin down. He gave Qui-Gon’s lightsaber a test swing, still trying to adjust to the weight of it. At least he hadn’t lost it this time.

The castle grounds were pristine and stark. There was the pale brick square where he’d been sparing the count, surrounded by tapered, etched pillars. Then there was a wide swath of rock gardens and footpaths and ancient coniferous trees all gnarled and bowed. Then the forest started and ran out to the horizon, giving the castle an air of remoteness that Obi-Wan found comforting. Not a chance they’d be surprised here.

Dooku moved to the other side of the circle and rolled his shoulders and head in an easy stretch. He held a blue lightsaber with a curved hilt--an old design that had gone out of fashion in the Order centuries ago. The weapon should have been turned over to the Council when he left the Jedi, but somehow it hadn't been a surprise that Dooku still had it. Dooku raised his lightsaber in the traditional duelist salute Obi-Wan was growing very familiar with. It was starting to feel like a taunt. 

Obi-Wan circled left. The old man had to have a weakness. A blind spot.

Dooku obliged by moving to stay opposite, keeping one hand behind his back, lightsaber deceptively low like he was inviting the attack. “Tired, Kenobi?”

“No, Master.”

“Good. Your persistence does you credit, but you swing too widely. It makes you vulnerable to counterattacks.”

“Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan gathered himself and sprang across the courtyard with the strong overhead strike he knew. The count sidestepped and parried, letting Obi-Wan’s momentum carry him by. The Jedi got his feet back under him and swung round and caught the overhand blow inches from his face. Dooku followed with a quick volley of glancing blows, not bothering to take his off-hand from behind his back, and Obi-Wan gave ground to avoid the singing blue blade. 

He was used to fending off power and brute force when he sparred with Qui-Gon, not efficient parries. Makashi was a dance, and he felt like he had two left feet.

He lunged. Dooku sidestepped and batted the attack away. The two exchanged a flurry of blows before the count had him locked into another saber bar. Obi-Wan planted his feet and pushed back. Through the crosses blades, Dooku narrowed his eyes as he scrutinized the younger man. He was judging. Evaluating. And Obi-Wan had no idea how he was measuring up. 

With a push of the Force, Obi-Wan threw Dooku off, and the count had to catch himself as he landed across the courtyard. 

“Yeah!” Anakin’s elated voice echoed over the grounds. 

Obi-Wan glanced up, and on the balcony several stories up stood Anakin, his fists raised over his head in a cheer. His probe droid friend rested on the balustrade. Clearly, the boy was not studying the material Obi-Wan had left for him. 

A lightsaber flicked towards Obi-Wan’s face, and he flinched and knocked it away. He took two steps back to reorient himself in the fight.

Dooku frowned. “Focus. Do not allow yourself to become distracted.”

Focus. He had to focus on the present. This wasn’t about strength at all but economy of motion. 

They traded blows across the width and breadth of the courtyard, Obi-Wan chasing Dooku, struggling to adjust his training to an unfamiliar opponent. Ataru relied on decisiveness, overwhelming and exhausting an opponent, but didn’t matter how hard Obi-Wan struck if Dooku wasn’t there when the blow landed. 

Then he saw an opening in the count’s defense, an error. He leaped, and his blade arced through the air. 

But Dooku was gone. He’d sidestepped before Obi-Wan reached the height of his arc, and there wasn’t time to redirect the blow. It was a trap, and the error was his. 

He slammed into the ground, slicing a deep angry cut in the brick. He brought his lightsaber to guard, but Dooku’s swift kick to the chest sent the Jedi tumbling. 

Obi-Wan hit the ground and rolled into the gravel. Stars danced across his vision, and behind them were the flashing red saber and the black of the Sith’s robes. 

A lightsaber sang behind him, hungry for his life, and he felt the heat and smelled the burnt flesh. 

He scrambled to his feet, but when he whirled on the Sith, it was only Dooku, standing with his blade lowered and an inscrutable, stern expression on his face. 

Hands trembling with adrenaline, Obi-Wan lowered his weapon. He wasn't on Naboo fighting for his life. He was here. He was alive. 

“I…”

Dooku turned off his saber and hung it on his belt. “That will do for saber work for today. I’ve seen enough. Meditation next, I should think.” He glanced up at Anakin. “Tell that padawan of yours that if he has time to gawk, he has time to train.” 

Obi-Wan looked to his padawan, and Anakin waved. The Jedi made a gesture as if meditating and then for the boy to come down, and he felt Anakin’s disappointment before he saw it in the boy’s slumped shoulders. Meditation had proved difficult for both of them, and he imagined Anakin didn’t want to struggle with it in front of Dooku, who was effectively a stranger. He jerked his head in a “go on” movement, and Anakin and his droid vanished into the house. Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head. Hopefully, the boy found something to keep himself busy for a few more hours. 

****

Anakin ran back into the castle, Avee whizzing along behind him. He knew the Jedi had been talking about him, and he wasn’t really supposed to be there. He was supposed to be doing other things like the reading Obi-Wan had left for him, but it was more interesting to watch the duel. They were fast. Scary fast. He’d wanted to try, but he definitely didn’t want to meditate. He wasn’t good enough at it yet, and Dooku seemed like he was picky. He’d made Obi-Wan start their spar over a bunch of times for what looked like no reason at all.

Taking a right, Anakin ran into the empty turbolift. “Come on, Avee.”

She beeped nervously and sailed in just before the doors closed, and the lift moved up the floors.

Avee landed on his shoulder and chirped. She was up and running at full capacity, even if she was a little jumpy. He patted her chassis. “It’s okay. We’ll find something else to do.”

He’d devoured the readings on astronavigation, but the history Obi-Wan had left was boring and he’d pushed it under the couch after a couple paragraphs. Exploring would be much more interesting.

It was a big castle. Big and spooky and a lot emptier than Gardulla’s palace had been. Most of the castle was closed off like nobody had lived there for years, and the staff were all droids. Anakin and Obi-Wan had the run of the seventh floor, but they only really used a couple of rooms in it. The top two floors were the count’s living space, and Anakin had no interest in going up there. The view would have been wizard though.

Art decorated all the rooms--sculptures and paintings of people and scenes Anakin didn’t have an interest in. There was one painting in a dining hall of a woman with red hair holding a soft white animal. She had kind eyes that he liked, but most of the other paintings were sour and serious. He didn’t like those much at all.

Anakin punched the button for the eleventh floor. He hadn’t been there yet.

It wasn’t closed down like he expected. Instead, it was brightly lit, and all the walls were soft blues and purples. He glanced at Avee, who trilled back at him. 

“Yeah. This is kind of weird. Which way?”

Avee drifted one way down the hall, then the other. Then she flew off to the left, and Anakin trailed after. The hall wound around the perimeter of the castle, making a big loop with rooms to either side. If they followed it all the way around, they’d get back to the turbolift. He tried a few doors and found an office with a big desk and bigger windows then a concerned beeping ahead caught his attention. He jogged up the hall and found a cleaning droid spinning in distress. 

“Uh oh. You stuck?”

Anakin crouched over the cleaning droid, and it chirruped for help. It had sucked up some kind of debris that clogged its internal systems.

“Oh, okay. Hold on. I can fix that.” He gently flipped it over and took the spanner off his belt. Carefully he opened the droid’s grating and picked at the long strings that had gummed up its works. He frowned. “No wonder you’re not running right. You’ve got something really jammed in there.” 

He locked the spanner on another bolt and twisted, but it stuck. Gritting his teeth, he put as much torque on it as he could. The spanner snapped. A piece hit the wall, and Anakin scraped his knuckles across the droid’s works. 

“Ah! Kriff.” 

The spanner had cracked all the way down the body to the handle. How was he supposed to fix that without a heat torch? 

Sharp footsteps came up the hall, fast, and Avee beeped in alarm and ducked behind Anakin, her little manipulator arm going up and sparking. They weren’t supposed to be here. He scooped up the droid and scrambled to stuff all its parts in his pockets. 

The footsteps slowed. Stopped. Slowly he looked up. A tall woman stood over him, her white hair piled on top of her head and a fancy purple dress swishing at her heels. Her portrait hung downstairs in one of the dining halls, so she was important whoever she was. She raised one eyebrow at him. “You must be Anakin Skywalker.” 

He nodded. Who was she supposed to be? And how much trouble was he in exactly?

But the lady smiled slightly. “I am pleased to finally meet you, Anakin. I am Jenza. Are you repairing that droid?” 

Jenza? That was the lady of the house, Dooku’s sister. He was in for it now. But she sounded more like Padme than Dooku—no fancy Core accent. 

He jerked his head. “Trying to. But my spanner broke.” 

“Unfortunate. But seeing how it was damaged in a valiant effort to repair my family’s property, I’ll simply have to replace it. V12?”

The upside-down droid beeped. 

“You should dock for the evening. Perhaps once Anakin has some new tools, he can finish your repairs.” 

V12 beeped in acknowledgment and spun its wheels. Anakin flipped it back over and balanced all its parts on top of its flat chassis. It whistled some thanks to him and rolled away. 

The corner of Jenza’s mouth raised. “I have some business in town. Would you like to join me?”

Oh. Maybe he wasn’t in trouble. 

Anakin looked at Avee. Jenza seemed nice. Nicer than her brother anyway. They were safe on Serenno, and Obi-Wan was busy with meditation practice...

“Sure.”

Her smile widened to show a row of very straight, very white teeth. “Wonderful. Come along then.”

She turned on her heel, and he followed her, and Avee followed him. They took the turbo lift down to the second floor where the dining hall was then past it, and the doors opened to a hangar under the castle. Jenza led him to a beautiful white shuttle. He didn’t know its class, but it looked fast. They boarded, and the pilot droid guided the ship out of the hangar and over the forest towards the city on the horizon. 

***

The Force moved like ripples on a pond, criss-crossing and overlapping on the surface in an endless lattice of living things. Obi-Wan allowed it to bear him up and rested in the surface tension as the pattern moved over him and around him and through him. Beneath him, the Force stretched into vast depths. The memory of Naboo that had prematurely ended their sparring felt less sharp now, and his heart had stopped racing. He took several deep breaths and let himself sink deeper.

After Naboo, it had been painful to touch the Force. He could see the place in the pattern Qui-Gon had been, the tear his absence left. But then the Temple fell, and everything had been death. Death and suffering with ten thousand ends echoing over and over. 

He could feel it still. The way the grief twisted in his chest until it made him sick. But he’d had to shield and protect Anakin and that meant putting his personal feelings aside. A Sith was prowling the galaxy, looking for any surviving Jedi. Looking for Anakin.

Obi-Wan could sense Anakin inside the castle. The boy was as bright as a young sun in the Force, even untrained. Anakin’s shields were getting better—the boy picked up training with startling speed—but they were still weak enough for a trained Force-sensitive to break. Thank the Force those dreams had stopped since they came to Serenno. 

“Pity your padawan could not join us,” Dooku said.

Opening one eye, Obi-Wan squinted against the late afternoon sun. He drifted about ten feet above the ground, legs crossed, wrists resting on his knees. A few yards away, Dooku hovered in a similar pose, spine ramrod straight. He was part of the Force’s lattice too, and his presence was surprisingly like Qui-Gon’s. Stones from the rock garden moved in slow orbit around the two of them.

“He’s strong. Young for a padawan learner,” Dooku said.

Obi-wan felt his hackles raise. “I’m young for a master.”

“An observation, Kenobi, not a judgement.” 

Despite Dooku’s conversational tone, it certainly sounded judgemental. But so did most things Dooku said. Obi-Wan supposed it came from the deafening certainty the former Jedi radiated.  
“Be wary of your attachment to him. The path you’ve set for yourself is dangerous enough.”

One of the boulders had begun to wobble on its axis, probably from his distraction. Exhaling, Obi-Wan focused on the wayward stone and steadied it. “I’m not attached to Anakin. Training him is my duty.”

“Many masters have told themselves the same thing, but that does not make it true.” Dooku frowned and tilted his head. “I sense much anger in him. Fear.”

“The Council said the same.”

Dooku’s surprise rippled through the Force, and the floating stones trembled. “You still mean to train him?”

“I do.”

Anakin had no where else to go. He could have stayed at the temple as a ward, even if he were not to be trained. But that door had closed a long time ago. Obi-Wan had made a promise, and he intended to keep it. 

“Hmm. And I sense Qui-Gon’s defiance in you.”

A pang shot through his heart, but Obi-Wan smiled. “A flaw endemic to my lineage, unfortunately.”

Dooku snorted. “Defiance suits you, Obi-Wan. I cannot say the same for impertinence.” 

Obi-Wan didn’t have a smart reply, so the two of them meditated in silence for a long time.

Then the dull drone of an engine sped away from the castle, and Anakin’s bright presence went with it.

Obi-Wan hit the ground in a crouch, and rocks crashed to the ground all around him. “Where the blazes is he going?”

“Calm yourself, Kenobi.” Dooku landed beside him and lowered the remaining boulders to the ground in a much cleaner fashion. “I sense my sister is with him.”

“Where is she taking him?” Obi-Wan strode for the castle, intent on following them. Why would Anakin just leave? After all this time, didn’t he know better than to disappear?

“Into the city, presumably. Would you like to call them back?” Dooku summoned his commlink from where it lay on the ground near a pillar. 

“Yes!” Obi-Wan stopped short. “No. No, it’s fine.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Even though they were safe enough on Serenno, any calm he had felt earlier was gone. "He should have asked first."

Dooku pocketed his commlink and addressed Obi-Wan with a curious air. “Does the boy know you’re here to train to hunt Sith?”

“Not in so many words. He knows of the Sith, that all the surviving Jedi are being hunted.”

“And why didn’t you tell him?”

Obi-Wan fixed Dooku with a startled look. The man had raised two padawans himself, didn’t he know? “He’s a child. We were on the run, and he had enough to be afraid of.”

Dooku nodded and put a hand on his shoulder. “Then you have already learned one of the hard lessons of being a teacher. There are some truths we keep from our children.” Then he turned and walked back toward the garden and the ruin of stones scattered across the ground. “Come. We’ll begin again.”

***

The city thrummed with activity. It didn’t seem quite as large as Mos Espa, but it had an arena that looked like it might host racing games. And there was the sea. It looked like the sky tipped upside down, and it looked even bigger than the lakes on Naboo.

The ship set down in a bustling business district, and Jenza led him out into a wide, paved square then past the first few rows of shops to a smaller mechanic. With her elegant purple gown and fancy title, Jenza didn’t look like she belonged in any mechanic’s shop, even if this one was nicer than any on Tatooine. But she’d smiled at the mechanic and let Anakin pick out a whole set of tools newer than maybe anything he’d had in his life 

Then he followed her to a few more businesses and offices where she spoke with people about stuff that sounded important but didn’t hold his interest. He trailed along politely but spent most of the time sitting in a corner inspecting his new spanner. Then Jenza took him to a restaurant. It wasn’t quite as fancy as Theed palace’s banquet hall, but it wasn't a cantina by a long shot.

Soft flute music played under the drone of conversation and utensils hitting plates. A TC protocol droid—finished and played silver—greeted them at the door. “Lady Jenza. Welcome. How may I be of service?” 

“Table for two, TC. A quiet one, if you can.”

“Right away, my lady.” And it led them to a corner table away from the live music. It handed them menus and shuffled away.

Anakin glanced down at Avee, who was folded up in his lap and idling as she scanned for threats. He opened his menu and frowned at all the options. The menu was all in basic, and he was still used to mostly reading mechanical parts in basic, not whatever a “lite-ly fri-yed sarp” was supposed to be. He glanced at her. “Lady...”

She looked over the top of her own menu. “Miss Jenza is fine. Order whatever you like, Anakin.” 

He looked back at the menu and slowly deciphered the descriptions until he found something that sounded okay. A Twi’Lek waiter came by with water then left with their order.

Miss Jenza folded her hands and turned her head to one side. “Tell me about yourself, Anakin.” 

“Me?” Why was she interested in him?

“Yes. You live in my house; we should get to know one another. ” She smiled, and it reached all the way to her eyes with a crinkling effect that reminded him of the grandmother fruit-seller who lived a few houses down on Tatooine. Obi-Wan had explained that Jedi didn't have parents like most people. But if Dooku was Qui-Gon's master, and she was Dooku's sister, that made her kind of like Anakin's great-great-aunt. 

“How are you liking Serenno?” she asked.

He blinked then shrugged. “It’s nice, I guess.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. It’s safer than a lot of other places Obi-Wan and I have been.” 

Her friendly expression didn’t change, but he felt the ripple of anger pass through her. It was icy and hard like durasteel. She was a lot like some of the politicians he’d met on Coruscant. Not letting all of her feelings reach her face. Had he said something wrong?

She said, “That must have been very difficult. Living on the run like that.”  
It had been scary, running from planet to planet, bargaining for food and places to sleep. But Obi-Wan hadn’t let him go hungry. He had protected him from the cold. He hadn’t left Anakin behind. 

“The battle droids caught us on Yavin. A blaster bolt went straight through my shirt.” He held up his shirt tail to show where the hole would have been on his old tunic. “But Obi-Wan got them first. Turned them all into scrap, and we got away.” 

Jenza poured two glasses of water from the small pitcher the waiter had left. “Is that where you found your friend?” She nodded to Avee.  
Anakin nodded proudly and set Avee on the table. The droid was mostly drawn into herself, scanning the surrounding area for threats, but she glanced at Jenza before affirming her as a non-threat. 

“Avee is really cool,” he said. “She’s a probe droid I fixed up to help protect me and Obi-Wan from Trade Federation droids, but her long-term memory wasn’t so good. Now she’s just nervous. I built a protocol droid back on Tatooine, but I couldn’t bring him with me.”

“Your own protocol droid?” Jenza’s eyes lit up. “That’s quite impressive engineering.” 

Anakin puffed out his chest. “And my own pod racer.” 

“Oh? Do you race?” Worry flickered in her eyes even if she didn’t sound worried. 

“I used to. I even won the Boonta Eve Classic! But I haven’t raced since.”

Her sharp eyebrows did go up at that, wrinkling her face. “You won a pod race?”

He perked up. “You know about pod racing?” 

“Somewhat. My brother—not Dooku, my eldest brother Ramil. He died a few years ago, but he loved racing.” 

Anakin frowned. The castle seemed like it had never had three kids in it, and from what he could tell, there weren’t any kids there now. It was too quiet and empty for that.

But Jenza was still talking, and he shook his head and tried to pay attention. 

“--he raced bikes and speeders, not pods. He was quite good at it from what I understand. That’s very dangerous work, Anakin.” 

“I know. My mom hated it too, but it got me free.” His heart twisted, and he patted Avee gently. 

A flash of understanding passed through Jenza’s face then she felt sadder, far away. It felt like Obi-was when he was sad about Qui-Gon and didn't want Anakin to know. There were a lot of things Obi-Wan felt that he didn’t want Anakin to know. 

“You must miss her very much,” she said softly.

He nodded, and there was a lump in his throat that hadn’t been there before.

Then the server appeared and set two plates and a glass of dark red liquid on the table. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

Jenza looked at him sidelong. “Anakin?”

“Uh… no.” He shook his head. 

Jenza waved the waiter away, and Anakin dug into his meal. It was some kind of fish and vegetable dish. He wasn’t sure he liked the fishy taste, but it was hot and there was a lot of it, so he wasn’t about to complain. While he ate, a few people came up to the table to talk to Jenza. They all called her “my lady” and talked about bills and programs and things Anakin didn’t understand or really care about. It felt like the day he had followed Padme around the Senate. All the people looked at him like they wanted to ask who he was, but Jenza only smiled.

After dinner, they flew home, and Anakin watched the lights of the city get further and further away. 

“Jenza?”

She turned her chair towards him and looked up from her datapad. “Yes, Anakin?”

“Can we go again sometime?”

Jenza smiled. “We certainly can.”

And Anakin smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left comments and kudos!! I’m thrilled you are enjoying these first few chapters, and I’m very excited for the big plot struggles to start unfolding in the next few weeks.


	4. The Impending Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dooku siblings are plotting a revolution, and Obi-Wan wants one moment of rest. A Jedi master looks for answers about the future of the Order.

They settled into a steady rhythm after that. Obi-Wan and Anakin trained in the mornings. The boy was adept at hand-to-hand combat and loved hiking in the forests below the castle, but he was suspicious of the lake and of swimming.

Sometimes Anakin spent the afternoons alone doing his assigned reading and work. Or more likely, not doing it, but more and more he ran off to spend time with Jenza. It wasn’t unlike what would have happened at the Temple, padawans learning from many masters besides their own--Jenza wasn’t a Jedi, but she seemed interested in Anakin’s well-being and encouraging of his interests, and that was all Obi-Wan could reasonably ask. It was good for Anakin to have other adults in his life, Obi-Wan told himself, and it gave him the free time to pursue his own training. 

But this afternoon Dooku was gone. Another speaking event at another university, denouncing the Republic’s decay to the galaxy's idealist youth. So today Obi-Wan trained alone. The training salle had been some kind of great hall once, but now it had a long fencing mat and a few combat droids. Some of the models were quite challenging, but he skipped them in favor of the punching bag. He needed to be faster, stronger. So he wrapped his hands in cloth strips and attacked the bag until he was dripping sweat. 

The training helped him think. It kept him moving.

Someone was watching him. 

He sighed and caught the swinging bag against his shoulder. “Anakin…”

The boy stood in the doorway, the ever-present probe droid hovering near his knees. He looked surprised Obi-Wan had noticed him. “Jenza wants to talk to you.”

The Jedi smeared the sweat from his face. “What about?” If Anakin had gotten into trouble again...

His padawan shrugged. “She just said to come find you.” 

“All right then." He began unwrapping his hands. "Did you finish your work?”

“Yeah.”

That was a blatant falsehood. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow and waited. Anakin ducked his head. “Jenza said she would help me later.” 

“Perhaps you should try it on your own and show her your work later.” 

Anakin shook his head harder. “She’s better at math than me.”

Obi-Wan sighed and unwrapped his hands. “All right, let’s go find her.”

He pulled on his overtunic and followed Anakin down to the main dining hall. It was a vast room with floor-to-ceiling windows and space for entertaining a large party. 

Jenza leaned over the head of the table, frowning at bits of flimsy and various data pads scattering its surface. She glanced up as they entered and a flicker of relief crossed her face. The Jedi crossed to her side and bowed. “You wished to speak with me, my lady?”  
  
“I did. Thank you, Anakin.” 

The boy beamed. He was eager to please and hungry for praise, but Jenza seemed sincere in her affection. Hr attachment to Anakin could be a problem in the future. More concerning was Anakin's growing attachment to her, and that was a discussion Obi-Wan was not looking forward to.

Jenza gestured to her work. “My dear, thoughtful brother called about an hour ago to tell me that we’re hosting a dinner party in ten rotations. Since he is currently trapped on Alderaan, I’ll be needing your help with the planning.”

Obi-Wan frowned, trying to parse that last sentence. Dooku had managed to evade arrest for seditious speech several times. Jenza seemed more irritated than concerned, so it seemed unlikely the Republic’s security force had finally caught up with him. He ventured, “I thought he was speaking at the Alderaan universities?”

“He was. But the students were protesting when he arrived, and his address was delayed several hours.”

“Protesting?” Dooku’s speeches on the University circuit had elicited some strong reactions, especially in the Mid-Rim and Core worlds, but this was the first he’d heard of protests. 

Jenza looked unamused and nodded. “Protesting Valroum’s army actually, which sparked a counter protest. And it’s going to get worse before it gets better. He informed me a few hours ago that we’re hosting a dinner for a select group of planetary leaders who may join us.”

Obi-Wan frowned. He’d known this was coming. Dooku’s contempt for the Republic and the Senate has only grown more obvious since Obi-Wan and Anakin has arrived. His aggressive speaking tour and frenetic traveling had been a clear precursor to something, but gathering galactic leaders was real and evidential treason. The kind that held up in the Republic's courts. Dooku must have felt certain he had the numbers and the resources to support a formal secession. There would be no going back. 

“It’s decided then.” 

Jenza’s mouth was a thin line as she nodded. “Yes. I hope we can rely on you.” 

Obi-Wan inhaled to asnwer, but Anakin cut in. “I can help!”

Jenza gave the boy a fond smile. “Thank you, dear. Would you and AV-17 start by running diagnostics on the security system?”

“Got it! Come on, Avee." Anakin sprinted away, Avee trailing behind him. 

Jenza watched them go then turned to Obi-Wan with a concerned look in her eye. “I hope this hasn’t caught you off-guard. I know you did not come here looking for war.”

The Force trembled around him like it was holding a breath, waiting. The galaxy was days from fissuring in two, and whether he stayed on Serenno or took Anakin back into the wider galaxy, they could not hide forever. They would have to pick a side.

He had been raised to be loyal to the Republic, to democracy. But it was dying, poisoned at the heart by a Sith Lord. Maybe it was already dead. 

Obi-Wan bent in a deep bow. “I am already a traitor, my lady. Perhaps it is time I earned the title.” 

****

Depa Billaba crouched in the shadows of the jungle trees, tracking the battle droids that patrolled Eedit road. The uneven towers of the old temple towered over the jungle landscape, and the strength of the nearby Force wellspring steadied her nerves. She shifted in place and watched the droids make another pass.

It had taken her weeks to get here. As far as she knew, the rest of the High Council was dead. Executed after they had reportedly attached the Chancellor in his own office. She was the last one left, and decisions had to be made for the Order. There were survivors. Hundreds, all in need of guidance before they faded away. 

Battle droids or no, she intended to get what she’d come for. 

As the droids moved past her hiding place, Depa moved. She skirted the road, circling to the back of the temple. As much as she wanted to search the living space in the towers, what she needed was below them. And Mace had taught her there was always another way in.

She sliced through two droids, and flung their sparking parts into the woods before they could raise their blasters. Enemies dispatched, she cut an entrance in the base of the temple and kicked it in. 

The interior was dark and cool compared to the humidity outside. She had lost her outer robes almost immediately--an attempt to better blend in with the locals--but she missed the extra layer of protection they offered from the elements. Staying low, she moved through the abandoned halls, dispatching four more droids. The Jedi master and his apprentice that cared for this temple were nowhere to be found, and she could not sense them. Maybe they had escaped before the droids appeared. It had been reasonable for the Republic knew about the Order’s holy places, to keep it protected. Now it was a list of places the Jedi had to avoid. 

Finally, Depa found what she was looking for. The vergance. A crevasse in the gray stone, several meters long and a meter across at its widest point. 

Depa checked that her lightsaber was secure on her belt then folded her arms close to her torso and leaped. A moment later she caught herself on the close walls and held herself suspended in the dark. The Force hung heavy in the air as if it were a fog. If it were this strong a few meters down… she’d have to be careful. 

With one hand, she retrieved a glow stick from her belt and snapped it. An orange glow surrounded her and chased back the dimness enough to know that the bottom was not just beneath her. Depa let herself fall. The bottom found her a hundred meters later, and she rolled through the landing back to her feet. 

The glow stick illuminated a natural chamber about as large as a classroom and tall enough for a Wookie. Blaster marks riddled the floor in a perfect outline of the crevasse above. The droids must have been shooting at someone down here. Tunnels branches off in every direction, and cool air hung stale around her. The Force was so heavy here it almost made it hard to breathe. It wasn’t unlike the reaches of space, not hostile exactly, but vast. She would have to be careful not to lose herself. 

Depa took a centering breath and turned in a slow circle. She needed a vision. Guidance. Which tunnel to take? 

The Force pulled her towards the center tunnel, and she obeyed. Her soft footsteps echoed off the walls as the natural passages wound deeper. Soon she lost all sense of direction. Still she walked on.

A little while later she came across a destroyed probe droid, severed in two by a lightsaber, but the Force did not cry a warning. She pressed on and found three, six, fifteen battle droids scattered and destroyed. Blaster fire and deep lightsaber cuts pocked the walls and floor of the close passage.

Something lay slumped against the wall. Depa gritted her teeth and held the light up.

A Devaronian. His sharp horns cast long shadows across his downturned face, and blaster burns riddled the front of his robe. Master Rheng. The caretaker. Tucked against his side and partly behind him was a smaller Devaronian with horns barely begun to grow. The padawan.

Pain twisted in Depa’s chest and she bowed her head. She'd been afraid of this, but seeing it... it didn't seem fair that she still had a heart to break. 

Kneeling, she rearranged Rheng’s cloak to cover both fallen Jedi. 

They were one with the Force now. At peace.

Depa closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose as she exhaled wearily. She was the youngest member of the Council, a member for less than a year. How had this fallen to her?

She needed guidance, a vision, something to tell her which way to turn. She wished the rest of the Council were alive. She wished Mace were here. She could use his wisdom. 

Depa rose to her feet and let the Force lead her on. A long time later, or in no time at all, the tunnel forked. Stopping, she raised her light over her head and noticed it had dimmed to almost half as bright as it had been at first. 

Depa slid the dying glow stick back into her belt, and the dark enveloped her. There was nothing left to do but trust the Force.

“Guide me.” Her voice echoed back in an indistinct whisper. “Guide me.” 

She took a step forward. Then another. She walked through the dark, and the Force beckoned her on as the air temperature dropped. Indistinct voices echoed around her, voices of strangers calling names she didn’t recognize. Children laughed and shrieked and wailed, and one called to her. “Master!”

She swung her head towards the voice, but called her again from farther away. “Master, where are you?”

She took a step after it and stopped. Was it a vision? Or something that might have been and was now lost? How was she supposed to divine the future of the Order from snippets of dreams?

“Depa,” said a familiar voice.

“Mace?”

"Depa."

She strode in the direction his voice had come from. Her foot met empty air. She lurched forward into empty space but caught the edge of the wall with her fingertips. Motion arrested, Depa held still. She reached backwards with her freehanging foot and found the floor. Still leaning out over the void, she slid her foot back and found stone then nothing. She was precisely balanced by the strength of her fingers on what was now a very narrow ledge.

There was nowhere to go back to. She wasn’t even sure she was in the temple of Eedit anymore.

“Guide me.”

The Force tugged at her robes, her legs. 

Trust the Force. 

She let go of the wall and fell. 

***

Obi-Wan stood in his apartments, watching the flickering blue face of his grandmaster on the projector. He crossed his arms. “Everything is ready, master. The Invisible Hand is on high alert, and every ship in and out of the system is being checked by the Security Task Force.” Obi-Wan stroked his beard. “Do you think the Sith will dare make an appearance?”

“It would be supremely arrogant to appear themselves,” said Dooku. The transmission flickered and warbled, but it held steady enough. “But I do not doubt they will have eyes and ears there tomorrow. What form it takes, I’ll leave you to discover. I will be preoccupied with other matters.”

“Understood. Though there are those on the guest list who will likely recognize me.”

The guest list was impressive. Poggle the Lesser of Geonosis, Queen Amidala of Naboo, Queen Breha of Alderaan, King Dendup of Onderon, Eriadu, Mandalore, Raxus, Mon Calamari, Felucia, Scarif, Ryloth, some planets he had never even heard of. Hundreds invited. How many would show was anyone’s guess. 

But Dooku dismissed the concern with a wave of his hand. “My sister has seen to that.” 

Obi-Wan wanted to ask what that meant, but Dooku’s form flickered then clarified again. “Remember Obi-Wan. If we can solidify an alliance, the Jedi survivors will have safe territory in which to hide from the Republic’s armies. But if the opening is played poorly, the game is already lost.”

As if he could forget what real Separatists movement could mean for his people. He shook his head. “It seems to me that game has been playing for a long time, Master.”

“Indeed, but the Republic has yet to see what stuff we are made of.”

Obi-Wan smirked. “Try not to start any riots before you reach Serenno. You still have a speech to give tomorrow night.”

Dooku raised an eyebrow in a long-suffering and ended the call. The hologram flickered out, and Obi-Wan slumped onto the sofa. Resting his forehead in his hand, he picked up the cup of tea sitting on the end table. 

The dinner was tomorrow, and everything was finally ready. He’d had no idea so much effort went into putting these events together; he might have crashed more of them than he’d attended. 

Dooku would return home in a few hours, and it would be a flurry of last minute maneuvering and calculations. But now Obi-Wan had a few moments’ rest to himself. He inhaled the trail of steam and savored the delicate notes of tea. He had found a generous supply of it in the kitchens in an unlabeled tin, and while he wasn’t sure who it put it there, it had been one of Qui-Gon’s favorite blends. He took a long sip and closed his eyes.

A chime came at the door. 

“Hmm, so much for that.” He groaned and forced himself to his feet. “No rest for the wicked.”

It was Jenza, standing with several boxes in her hands. She started like hadn’t expected him to answer then she straightened her spine, reminding him that she stood a good half-head taller than himself. Height, it seemed, ran in the family. 

“Obi-Wan. Do you have a moment?” 

He stood aside and gestured for her to come in.

She stepped inside. “Is Anakin already asleep?” 

He nodded. Anakin has gone to bed a few hours ago, or rather Obi-Wan had carried him to bed after the boy dozed off during their evening meditation. 

Jenza caught sight of the tools scattered across the couch and smiled fondly. “He’s a sweet boy.”

“He is.” 

“You’re doing a wonderful job teaching him.” She seemed sincere as always, but the compliment had caught him off guard. Jenza seemed to sense his discomfort because she set the boxes on the table and gestured to them. “There are for you. They were delivered this afternoon.”

He shot her a curious glance, but she nodded to the packages. He removed the lid, revealing a folded black cloth. When he lifted it free of the box, it unfolded into a fine silk tunic that looked about his size. “This isn’t necessary, my lady--”

She smiled wryly. “Nonsense. If you’re planning to throw your lot in with us traitors, you should look the part.”

Obi-Wan bowed and retreated to his room to change. The black shirt and pants fit well with enough give that he could run and duel if need be. There were fewer layers than his Jedi robes, and the fabric was finer and more expensive. It was designed for parties, not slogging through swamps. At the bottom of the box was a belt and boots, also black with silver accents. It wasn’t ornate enough to make him feel like a puffed-up politician, but he didn’t dare guess how much it had cost.

But enough peacocking. He straightened the shirt and stepped back out into the living room. Jenza had brewed another pot of tea and stood at the window overlooking the forest and the distant city. The tools had been placed into a box on the sofa, and the pillows sat straighter. 

She noticed his reflection in the window and turned back to him with a startled look. He cleared his throat and pulled at the tall collar. “I’m afraid I feel rather foolish.”

“Well, you look very put together.” She crossed the room and straightened his collar with one hand, balancing her teacup in the other. Once she was satisfied with how the embroidered fabric stood, she patted his shoulder. “There. For all the galaxy knows, you could be a count yourself.”

He flushed under his beard. He’d worn his fair share of disguises on missions, but this one felt real in a way he wasn’t sure he was ready to accept. “It’s very generous of you.”

“Not at all. I know the Order has… thoughts about families, but as far as I am concerned, you and Anakin are family.” She wrinkled her forehead contemplatively, and the expression deepened her wrinkles. “You’re very like him.”

Obi-Wan blinked, unsure how to respond. His new clothes were reminiscent of Dooku's, but he wasn't sure that was what Jenza meant. Some things did travel in lineages: saber techniques, technical skills, reputations, even personal flaws. Maybe he should take comfort in knowing that he carried marks of his own lineage. 

But Jenza saved him from having to respond. “Yan would carry the entire galaxy on his shoulders if he could only find another place to stand. But your being here reminds him that he isn’t alone.”

He nodded slowly. “A teacher at the temple once told me that sometimes accepting help is harder than offering it. Your brother strikes me as a man who does not admit defeat."

“Truer than it should be, unfortunately. Oh, and speaking of accepting help…” She crossed to the remaining white box, set down her teacup, and produced a black and silver helmet. “Yan mentioned that you might not want to be recognized yet. If you aren’t quite certain about playing seditious dignitary, I could use a personal guard to escort me.”

Obi-Wan took the helmet and weighed it in his hands. It was metal, finely crafted and well balanced. The inside was padded to cushion impacts to the head, and the visor looked wide enough for a full range of vision. It was solid black, matching his clothes save for the silver inlaid the artificial facial structure, giving it an almost skeletal visage.

“It’s made of sacanium from the mines in the eastern hemisphere,” said Jenza. “It’s not quite as strong as a ship’s hull, but it will protect you from most impacts to the head.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’ll be in danger of head trauma?”

She gave him a long-suffering look not unlike the ones many Jedi masters had given him over the years. “Jedi tend to be quite reckless in my limited experience. Forgive me for being proactive, but there’s breastplate and greeves and vembrances to match if you should need then."

The Jedi tucked the helmet under one arm and bowed. “Thank you, Jenza.”

“You’re welcome. Now rest while you can.” And she gathered up the boxes and left the apartment.

Obi-Wan set the helmet carefully on the table, and the silver caught the light in a pale sheen. Then he poured himself a lukewarm cup of tea and settled in for a few last moments of peace.

***

Depa fell.

She fell through the dark, end over end until she had lost all sense of up or down as if she were hurtling through space. Then she hit the ground--hard. All the breath rushed from her lungs, and she lay facedown on the cold ground gasping and tearing up. 

The Force apparently hadn’t had time to stand on pleasantries. 

Rustling cloth and the soft patter of boots caught her attention, and Depa pushed herself up on one arm. Blinking back the tears from the impact, she peered around the dim light. Shelves along the walls glowed soft blue, and the architecture was brown and grey with precise curves. The temple on Eedit--no. No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t humid enough, and there was a churning in the Force, the echoes of death unlike anything she’d felt before. Wherever she was, the temple of Eedit was far, far away.

Something clicked in the shadows to her left. A blaster. 

Depa rolled over her shoulder to her feet and ignited her lightsaber. Its green glow burned and wrung more tears from her eyes, but she held the blade ready to deflect any attack. Where was she? Where had the Force brought her?

Another rustle of cloth then short footsteps. There was one being in the room with her and more in the rooms beyond. The air smacked of their fear.

“Show yourself,” Depa demanded. 

Jocasta Nu, head archivist of the Jedi Temple, stepped from the shadows. She looked worn with dark circles under her eyes, her usually meticulous hair in a white braid. A long blue and gold rifle hung from her hands. She squinted and stepped closer. “Depa? Depa Billaba?” 

“Master Nu?” Depa lowered her own weapon. “Is it you?”

"As real as I've ever rememebered being. But how did you get back here?"

Depa glanced around. "Where is here?"

“The Jedi Temple on Coruscant. But never mind that." Jocasta slung the rifle over her shoulder and gestured for Depa to follow. "Your old master will be glad to see you alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this thinking I’d go with all of the Jedi:Lost canon, but House Serenno naming thing isn’t doing it, so we’re going with Yan Dooku like 2009 fandom rightly intended.
> 
> Rheng and his padawan are my OCs, Devaronians who trained as Jedi and elected to stay on their home planet as caretakers of the temple.
> 
> Jocasta’s rifle is from the comic Darth Vader #8, which I would highly recommend. 
> 
> I’m imagining Obi-Wan’s helmet as a black, no pattern version of Ventress’ bounty hunting helmet.


	5. The Temple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Depa finds the last of the Jedi hidden in the temple on Coruscant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: This chapter deals with the aftermath of an early Order 66. Canon typical violence but a lot of implied/discussed character death.

Depa followed Jocasta through the bowels of the Jedi Temple. The halls were tighter here, shorter, and the lights recessed into the walls were dark. Depa stayed close to the old archivist and the faint blue glow emanating from her rifle. The weapon looked ancient, certainly not a style in use anymore, and Jocasta’s lightsaber was slotted into the barrel. 

The air was cold and stagnant and quiet save for the soft padding of their feet. Occasionally a pipe snaked out of the wall and forced them to duck under it. 

“Not much further. As long as we don’t run into any droids.”

“Droids? How far down are we?”

Jocasta shifted the rifle slung over one shoulder. “Right now? Sub-level 147.”

A long time ago, Depa had snuck down to the sublevels to explore once when she was a young padawan and Mace had been tied up in Council meetings for days. She hadn’t made it this far though, and the Force had a muffled feeling to it like the layers and layers of constructive substrate somehow muffled the vibrancy of the trillions of souls that called Coruscant home.

“The droids are all the way down here?”

“Oh yes. We barricaded most of the entrances, but they always manage to find a way through.” Jocasta shrugged her rifle a little higher. “This takes care of most of them, however.”

Depa reached out with the Force and was struck by a wall of death and pain as if she’d been slapped. Gritting her teeth, she drew back behind her shields. She’d known it was bad but to know it firsthand...

Jocasta shot her a sympathetic look but said nothing.

Depa rubbed her forehead on her sleeve. Depa wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer, but she had to know. “How many are left?”

“Droids? Thousands. The main levels are swarming with them. They don’t need to sleep or eat, so they continue to come.” 

“No. How many of us.”

Jocasta was quiet for a long moment. “Seventy for certain. Mechanics, historians, younglings… most of the guardians and sentinels died in the initial attack.”

Depa staggered and put a hand out to steady herself on the wall. Seventy. There had been thousands of Jedi mere weeks ago, to have lost so many… Faces of friends and mentors rushed through her memory. Who was left? Who had survived? 

The grief rose in her throat, but there was no time for sorrows. There were Jedi still alive and in danger, and the Force has brought her here. There would be time enough to grieve the fallen later. 

“There have to be ways out of these levels. Are all the survivors still here?”

“No. No, Masters Sinube and Windu called in every underworld favor they had. Most of the survivors got off-planet with orders to disappear, but there are injured. We couldn’t move them, so a few of us stayed behind to protect them.”

“How did this happen?”

Instead of answering, but the older woman stopped short and held up her hand. Depa froze. The distant echo of clanking reached her ears, and her hand went to her lightsaber. It hummed in her hand, ready to spring to life at her call. Jocasta held up two fingers then a fist then one finger. Two battle droids and a droideka. 

Depa raised her lightsaber to ignite it, but the archivist shook her head sharply. “If we destroy them, the others will know we were on this level.” 

Then she darted forward, dropped to one knee, and hit her fist against the wall. A panel fell open, and she gestured for Depa to go first. 

The younger Jedi gritted her teeth and crawled headfirst into the wall. Jocasta followed and pulled the cover fast behind them, and the rifle’s glow seemed brighter in the close crawl space. Wires and pipes crisscrossed the narrow passage that ran into the walls. It must have been a service tunnel.

Jocasta sighed. “I’ve never seen a heavy droid down this far. But I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. They've been hunting us like animals since Valroum gave the order.” She stepped over a rope of wires. “We had to pull back from the lowest agri-levels a week ago. It’s not good, Master Billaba.”

Depa stopped and put a hand on the archivist's shoulder, and Jocasta covered it with her own with a shudder. All her life, Depa has seen Master Nu as an unflappable pillar of the Temple, cowing rowdy padawans and wizen masters alike in the holy ground of the Archives. To see her so worn, touting a rifle that belonged in a museum, it was a sobering testament to what they had lost. 

  
Then Jocasta straightened and steeled herself. “We should keep moving. The others will be glad to see you.”

Further in, the women continued down a two-story shaft and through a hall to a turbo lift shaft. Above, the lift had been twisted off its rails and wedged between two floors. Nothing was coming down that way. They leaped down another twenty levels and let themselves into another floor where they picked their way through the narrow halls until they reached a blast door with two Jedi Sentinels standing guard. They looked battered, robes torn and burned, and one had a crack in their white and gold mask. The Sentinels saw the women approaching and visibly relaxed. One raised their hand in acknowledgment. “Master Nu. It is… Master Billaba? We thought you were dead.”

She put her hands together and bowed. “Not yet. The Force brought me here to help.”

The Sentinels glanced at each other, and though she couldn’t see their faces, she felt their doubt. She should have been here, to stand with them. But that was in the past, and wishing she could change it would only distract her from what she had to do now. 

The Sentinels each raised a hand, the center lock mechanism slid into place, and the door sank into the floor, allowing Jocasta and Depa to enter the vault. 

The interior was dark, illuminated by scattered orange lanterns. There were few Jedi inside--some meditated, others lay curled up and trying to sleep in the timeless dark. The air was close and hotter than it had been outside the vault, and the heavy walls muffled the sound of already hushed voices to a muted whisper. 

The archivist led her to the back of the vault where a row of a dozen Jedi were laid out. Depa stopped short in horror thinking they were bodies, but no, they were all alive. White-headed masters, tiny younglings, strong knights lay side by side in deep healing trances, and Padawan Bant Erin and Master Nema made their way from Jedi to slumbering Jedi dressing wounds. The Mon Cala raised her head, and her eyes were red with exhaustion. “Master Billaba? Thank the Force.” 

If the doctor had taken someone else’s padawan on as help, the situation had to be desperate. 

Depa crouched by Bant’s side and looked over the patient. It was another padawan with a bandage of torn-up robes around his arm and shoulder. His breathing was so slow, it almost didn’t register, but he was alive. 

“You’ve done well, padawan.”

Bant’s voice cracked. “Is help coming?”

“I am here to help.” Depa smiled sadly. “Take heart; the Force is yet with us.”

Bant mirrored the smile and rubbed at her eyes. “I’m trying to believe that.”

The Jedi master began to speak, but a familiar presence caught her attention. “Dep.”

Mace stood among the wounded. A bandage covered the left side of his face, and he had aged since Naboo. Depa deflated with relief then made her way to her old master. She had often teased him for his age, but now he looked it. She caught his forearms and allowed him to lean forward on her for support. 

“Depa.” His face was grim, but he squeezed her forearms like he couldn’t believe she was real. 

There was so much she wanted to say, but a crowd of Jedi had begun to gather, watching, waiting. So she gripped his arms tighter to steady them both. “I’m glad you’re alive.” 

“And I you. But you should not have come back.”

“The Force brought me here. And it will lead us back out.” Then she closed her eyes. “What happened, Mace? I’ve heard rumors, but they cannot be true. The Jedi would not have betrayed the Republic.”

“No.” His voice was sharp. “No. We went to the chancellor to appeal for the deactivation of the droid army. Yoda and I thought we could make him see reason. But when we arrived, he claimed he had proof of a Jedi plot to depose him and seize control of the Senate.”

“He what?” Depa shook her head. Valorum had caught everyone off guard with the requisition of the Trade Federation’s army; it had probably saved him from being voted out of office over the Naboo Crisis. The Council has always considered him well-intention if passive and beleaguered. No one had dreamed he’d be capable of this.

“We told him as much. But he was paranoid. Irrational. Whatever evidence he thought he had, it had him convinced. Yoda thought if we surrendered, we would have the chance to prove the Order’s innocence. We knew it couldn't be a coincidence--the Council opening an investigation into the Sith on Naboo and days later an accusation of treason? If we could have spoken to Valorum a few minutes longer, we might have found out who was pouring poison in his ear." His voice tightened. "But the droids were already on their way to lock down the temple.” 

“They were arresting people on promenade." Roth-Del Masona stepped forward. His dark curly hair was now nearly shot through with silver. “The sentinels were refusing them entrance.”

Bant got to her feet. “I was on a balcony. Shaak Ti went out to talk to them. They said they were just there to stop us from leaving because we were enemies of the state. But there was a blaster shot. I didn’t see which one did it. She didn’t have a chance.”

“Then they were all firing. It happened so fast.”

“They were inside by the time we realized what was happening--”

The survivors told her how the droids had swept through the temple, how the Jedi had tried to run or hide or fight back only to be overwhelmed by the sheer numbers. Mace and Yoda had taken back their lightsabers and rushed back to the temple, but the droids quickly overwhelmed them. The Grandmaster had fallen, and Mace had been driven back with the other survivors, besieged deep beneath their own home. The sun had risen on a peaceful temple and set on a people in ruin.

Because one man wanted to hold onto his power. Because he’d listened to _lies_ fed to him by a Sith Lord. They could have forseen this. They should have forseen it.

Rage rose in her, the desperate need like a storm howling to destroy what destroyed her people. The grief she’d carried threatened to burn her from the inside out, but if she let it take her, it would raze her enemies first. It would be so _easy_ if only she would reach for it.

“Depa.” Mace put a hand on her shoulder, and the howling quieted. “Depa. We must get these people to safety.”

She took a shuddering breath and nodded then she turned to the assembled Jedi. “The Force brought me here from the temple of Eedit. I believe it will take us back.”

“That’s halfway across the galaxy,” said Masona. 

“I know. But now I am here.”

“If the Force was going to transport us to safety, wouldn’t it have done it already?” demanded Nema.

Wouldn’t it have saved us? hung unspoken in the close air.

Depa let go of Mace and stepped toward the doctor. “I did not come here to offer you false hope. But if we stay here, if we do nothing, we will die. I am asking you to trust the Force. One last time.”

Nema crossed her arms and looked down at her patients, weighing certain death against the unknown. Finally, she said, “All right. But we can’t carry all of them.”

She was right. There were twelve unconscious Jedi and nine standing, but Bant and others looked like they wouldn’t be doing that much longer. Depa crossed her arms. The Force had found her deep in the wellspring. There was one here, unfathomably deep below Coruscant’s surface, but between the radiation and the ruins and the feral animals, the Council had not allowed anyone down there in living memory.

“Wake them,” said Mace. “Any who are healed enough to walk on their own.”

Bant rocked back on her heels, and Nema sputtered. “We can’t do that! They’re in critical condition.”

“We don’t have a choice. We are not leaving anyone here.” And his tone said he would brook no argument. 

Bant and the doctor drew together and began pointing at different patients, arguing about which were most stable and safest to wake.

“How long will it take?” ask Jocasta.

Nema pinched the bridge of her nose. “Um, three to four hours. It’s dangerous enough waking them without rushing it.”

The archivist nodded and stepped close to Depa and Mace. “Masters. The Archives. I have to go back.”

Mace jerked his head. “Out of the question.”

“Master Windu, I need--”

“No. We need everyone here, and there is nothing in that library worth dying for. I’m sorry.”

Jocasta’s knuckles whitened on her rifle’s strap. “I am too old to be asking for permission. It is twenty-five thousand years of our history, and I have to go back to my library.”

“I said no.”

“The future of the Order depends on it.”

Depa clenched her jaw and met the archivist’s gaze, but Jocasta’s eyes were steel. She looked to Mace, who looked equally rigid. 

“It’s that important?”

“It is.”

She would probably regret this, but she put a hand on Jocasta’s shoulder. “Then let’s hurry. Mace? If we’re not back in four hours, go without us.”

Mace gave her a grim look. “Four hours.”

Then they had better get moving.

***

Depa followed Jocasta up through the service tunnels to a secret passage that ran just under the main floor of the temple. They had to crouch to avoid the low ceilings hung with cobwebs, and the floors were inches deep with dust. Depa carried her lightsaber at the ready in her right hand and shuffled slowly after the archivist. “How long has this been here?"

Jocasta adjusted her rifle on her shoulder. “I discovered them as a youngling. They were dusty then too.” 

Overhead, the steady tramping of droids passed back and forth. They were on some kind of patrol pattern, and there were many. If they were caught, Depa was not certain they would make it back down to the others. Then Jocasta turned left and began climbing a flight of stairs so narrow and twisting that Depa could touch both walls with her elbows.

A long time later they emerged near the ceiling of the archive, looking down on the floors of shelves to the floor far below. Battle droids patrolled the stacks, and old blaster burns riddled the walls and the floor, and the statues of hooded Jedi were cracked and partially crumbled. Cold scars from lightsabers pocked the stacks and the floors, but any bodies or scrapped droids had been carried away. Depa didn't want to think about what had been done with the fallen.

A hand brushed her shoulder, and Jocasta pointed to the stacks below. She crept along the narrow ledge and sprang the forty feet to the topmost floor, landing lighting in a crouch. Impressive for a woman who had been ruling the Archives longer than Depa had been alive. The Council member followed, and they ducked past a patrol and went down another floor. There Jocasta stopped at a backlit window of stained glass depicting an opening white blossom. With an air of urgency, she ran her hand along the frame until something clicked, and the panel swung open to reveal a short passage to another set of rooms.

Depa raised an eyebrow. “I’m guessing this has been here as long as the tunnels?”

“Nonsense. I had this installed my second year in this role.” 

They stepped through, and the panel swung closed behind them. Further into the hidden passage lay hidden rooms that were brightly lit with marbled flooring and shelves lined with glowing blue holobooks. A black starfighter sat against one wall, and glass cases displayed uniforms and holocrons and ancient-looking weapons. 

Depa walked to the nearest case and ran her hand over the glass. Inside were helmets and black holocrons that held traces of long-dormant evil. She frowned. “Jocasta. Is this the Bogan collection?”

She’d seen portions of that collection of old Sith artifacts, all carefully sealed away. What among these cursed items could have been worth coming back for? 

“Part of it. But there are other artifacts here too, ones the Council thought wise to restrict.” Jocasta strode to an access terminal and began typing. “Castor? Castor, are you still here?”

A boxy, humanoid droid powered up in the corner. It’s gold eyes flickered on, and it unfolded itself to a startling height. “Master Nu. Welcome back.”

Depa whipped out her lightsaber and pointed it at the droid, but Jocasta was at her side and pushed her arm down. “It’s all right. It’s Castor.”

“Castor?”

“Yes, Master Billaba.” The droid put one black metal limb to its chest in a shallow bow. Its plating was black-brown and etched all over in a square script Depa didn’t recognize. It was a stocky droid but looked like it could move fast if needed. “Welcome. I am CA-S0, Catalog Assistant Series Zero. I assist the Head Archivist with the restricted portions of the Jedi Archive.”

“He gave me quite a scare when I first found him back here.” Jocasta peered up at the droid. “Castor, did you do as I asked?”

“Yes, Master Nu. The back-up of the archive took approximately ten standard days.” He opened a compartment in his chest and produced a small blue holocron. “It contains all the information in every collection. The restricted collections are exactly as you left them, though I cannot say the same for the main sections. I have put the access terminals on a self-resetting lock that should make them very difficult to hack.”

Jocasta took the offered holocron and gave a shaky exhale. “There is nothing we can do about that at present. But well done.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

The archivist passed the holocron to Depa then went to the shelves and began searching the holobooks. The Council member hid the holocron in her robes then glanced at Castor and deactivated her lightsaber. He lacked the threatening hum most of the other artifacts possessed, so Depa turned her attention back to Jocasta. “What else do we need? We have the backup.”

“This.” The archivist pulled a holobook from the shelves with a triumphant smile. She dug her nail into a crack in the blue tome’s side and broke the casing open. Depa flinched at the cracking noise it made as the cover hit the floor, but Jocasta held up a tiny crystal. “This is a data crystal. It holds a list of Force-sensitive children across the galaxy. Birthplaces, names, birth dates, it’s all here.”

Depa inhaled slowly. The galaxy was a dangerous place for Force sensitives, and a list like that would be incredibly dangerous in the wrong hands. It could be dangerous in the right hands. “And why… do we have that?” 

“A Jedi master received it in a vision centuries ago. It’s gone largely unused; the Force has always led our children to us one way or another. But if we are going to rebuild the Order, we will need students.” She tucked the crystal into her own robes and moved the strap of her lightsaber rifle over the place where it hid. “And they will need us.” 

Then Jocasta returned to the access terminal and typed for a few more minutes before she stopped and bowed her head. “Master Billaba. I need you to give the order.”

“Order?”

“To erase this version of the archive. To make sure that if the Republic ever finds a way to get past Castor’s block, they won’t have more information to find us.”

Depa bowed her head and laid a hand over the holocron in her pocket. There was something bigger at play here than a politician's paranoia. First the Sith on Naboo, then the fall of an Order in less than a day. Something dark moved in the Force, just beyond her sight. It would not find her people again, not while she still lived.

“Do it.”

With a final click, all the lights in the holobooks faded. Thousands of shelves were now empty, just duraplastic and circuits devoid of data. Jocasta stepped back and ran a hand over her face. “All right. Let’s get back.”

Castor placed one hand over his torso again. “I will remain here, Master Nu, to guard the archives.”

“You don’t have to do that, Castor.”

“I know. I have guarded this collection for three thousand years. I will leave my post now.”

Jocasta put a hand on the droid’s elbow and gave him a mournful smile. “I will miss you, Castor. You have done your duty well.”

“Thank you, Master Nu. Now go. You must not be caught here.”

So Jocasta and Depa left the restricted collection and crept back into the main archive, where the battle droids had clearly noticed the darkened stacks. 

“Uh… should we call someone?” one asked.

“Quiet,” answered a deeper-pitched super battle droid. “I will alert central command. Spread out and make sure there are no Jedi here.”

The Jedi hurried through the stacks. “This way,” said Jocasta. “There is another passage that will lead us down to the others. We must not be caught--”

“Hey, you! Stop!”

Depa whirled around. Three battle droids stood at the other end of the stack, pointing at them. She flicked her saber, and the green blade turned end over end and sliced through all of them. The droids dropped into a pile of scrap.

“What was that?” said another battle droid not far away.

Jocasta cursed. “Go, go, go.”

They ran, Depa slicing through droids as they went. The thunderous march of more droids echoed through the halls and sank dread in Depa’s gut. Halfway across the archive, they reached a grate in the wall, and Depa buried her saber in it to the hilt, dragging a laborious entrance in the heavy steel. Jocasta unstrung her rifle, and the lightsaber in the barrel hummed for battle.

“Come on.”

Depa had made it nearly all the way around when two droidekas rolled around the stacks and unfurled into attack position, shields up.

“Look out,” shouted Jocasta.

Depa jerked her lightsaber free and deflected the first two shots. The bolts reabsorbed into the destroyer’s shields. The archivist dropped to one knee and brought the rifle to her shoulder. It hummed louder, and Depa wanted to shout that the shields would not be breached, but Jocasta pulled the trigger.

A blue streak blasted into the droidekas and slammed them both into the wall in a deep crater. The droids fell to the ground, bent and smoking they like had been crushed. Depa lowered her lightsaber and stared at Jocasta, but the woman swung the other direction, rifle still poised to tear through anything else. “Finish it!”

Reassured, Depa hacked through the rest of the grate while Jocasta destroyed a dozen more droids. Depa kicked in the grate, and it plummeted down the ventilation shaft, clattering off the walls in a cacophony. If the army didn’t know where they were before, they did now. 

Jocasta fired off two more shots then Depa grabbed and dragged her through the grate. “Hold on!”

And they dove into the shaft, blaster fire close at their heels. They fell the full depth of the ventilation system, hundreds and hundreds of feet before Depa drove her saber into the wall and slowed their descent in a long streak of molten metal. Jocasta shot in a door and they threw themselves through it and tumbled across the floor.

Where they stopped, Depa couldn’t hear blaster fire anymore. She lay still fighting to catch her breath. The holocron jabbed into her ribs, but at least it was a sign she still had it. Their history, all their knowledge, was still safe.

Jocasta lay with her eyes closed and her knuckles white around her rifle. Her lightsaber clicked and popped out of the dock, clattered to the floor and rolled a few feet before coming to a stop. “I never bloody liked fieldwork.”

A laugh burst from Depa’s lungs, and she wiped her eyes. “Noted.” She staggered to her feet and helped the archivist up. “We best keep moving.”

The two of them made their way back down to the vault without any more run-ins with droids, and the others looked relieved to see them. Four of the wounded Jedi were awake and sitting up, and though they didn’t look ready to move fast, they would be able to move.

Mace crossed his arms. “Did you get what you went for?” 

Depa nodded and produced the holocron. “We can leave now. Sooner the better.” 

“Then let’s move out.”

Between the able-bodied Jedi, they were able to fashion stretchers or carry their still unconscious fellows, and the recently woken staggered after them as they descended into the bowels of the temple. Eventually, they left behind the uniform passages of the more recent construction and entered ruins, levels and levels of ruins, and Depa and Mace ended up cutting paths through the floors and lowering or levitating the wounded down. They passed strange, skeletal-looking rocks and crumbling statues, and things with glowing eyes watched them from the shadows.

Bant often walked just behind her, and the Mon Cala's weary determination pushed Depa on. Once, the padawan began muttering to herself and Depa only caught a small piece of what she was say but it sounded like a poem. "Into receptive earth, O let us descend," Bant whispered. "Take, shimmering wind, these fragile splendors from us, crumple them, hide them in thy breath, in nothingness  
for we would sleep."

Depa shouldered the youngling higher and walked on.

It was hard to keep track of time, and they rested often and longer and longer at a time. Depa carried a youngling in a healing trance across her shoulders, and the tiny Chargrian’s silence bordered on frightening. But she could still feel his life in the Force, pulsating with his impossibly slow heartbeat. 

The descent consumed all of their limited supplies. A few more hours, and they would have to stop for good.

In one of the long stretches of halls, dusty with rows and rows of pillars, Bant came to her side. Her amphibious skin was dry and cracking at the lips. She would need water soon. “Master Billaba?”

“Hmm?”

“Are we lost?”

Depa didn’t know where they were. She and Mace had taken the lead more out of necessity than anything, but they had left anything familiar behind a long time ago. They just had to go down and hope the Force gave them a sign before they hit the radioactive levels.

“We’ll know the wellspring when we reach it. Worrying will not get us there faster.”

Bant took a long, raspy breath. “That’s what my master would say.”

“Your master sounds like a smart Jedi.” Depa offered her a tired nod of the head. “Trust the Force, padawan. Just a little longer.”

Somewhere behind, Masona asked, “Is that daylight?” Masona asked.

Bant and Depa swung toward his voice, and the entire group had stopped short. He held his lightsaber aloft in one hand and pointed with the other. Depa adjusted the youngling’s weight on her shoulders and squinted. It did look like light, maybe at the far end of the hall of pillars, but it might have been a predator with a lure, or a reflection of a saber.

“Turn off your lightsabers,” Mace ordered.

Reluctantly, the Jedi obeyed, and they were plunged into pitch blackness. 

The pinprick of light steadied. Whatever it was, it was constant and still. And the Force beckoned Depa to it.

One of the sentinels took a step toward it. “It… it’s calling me. Can you feel it?”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the group. 

“Trust the Force,” said Bant. “Isn’t that what you said, Master Billaba.” 

“I did.”

Without any more discussion, the Jedi moved toward the light. It seemed almost to move back toward them, and a breath of fresh air caught Depa’s hair and soothed her hot skin. 

“It smells like grass,” murmured one of the sentinels. 

They reached a triangular door carved with a series of overlapping circles, and at the top, a perfect circle let the light and air through. It did smell like grass, and Depa would have sworn the light felt natural.

The sentinels pushed at the door, but it held fast. Mace lowered his wounded Jedi to the ground and raised one hand. Depa did the same, and the Force moved between them, shimmering with the strength of their old bond. They turned it to the door, and stone groaned. The room trembled, and she felt the whole structure turn as if rotating on an axis, but she didn’t dare let go yet. It turned, scraping and shuddering until the door rumbled open.

Outside was daylight, real daylight and an endless plain of rolling grass and hills. 

“It worked,” Jocasta breathed.

Mace stepped through the door and stood in the sunlight for a long moment. Then he turned back to the other Jedi and gestured for them to follow. “It’s real.”

They followed, and outside a gentle breeze waved through the grass and carried the smell of distant water. One of the sentinels fell to their knees and took off their cracked mask to face the sun.

Behind them, the temple was a cluster of conical stone formations, carved over with simple figures in complex repeating patterns. Depa had never seen a temple quite like this before, which meant wherever the Force had brought them, it was ancient. Maybe even older than the ruins they had found on Coruscant.

“Is this Eedit?” Bant asked, staring in wonder at the endless plains.

"No. No, it is not. But it is somewhere we can rebuild." Depa lowered her youngling charge to the ground and propped his head up on some folded down grass to cushion him. Standing, she looked over the rising hills and the strange conical shapes of the ancient temple that had brought them here. 

Twenty-one Jedi with them, and an unknown number scattered across the galaxy. A holocron and a list of children. A new home.

Depa pushed her hair back from her face, turned her face to the sun, and closed her eyes. The Force had given them a moment of safety, a moment to catch their breath.

But something told her that her work was far from finished. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got really long because I wasn't sure how best to break it up.
> 
> Bant is quoting the poem "The Glory Is Fallen Out Of" which this story takes its title from.


	6. The Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan looks for trouble. Anakin finds it.

_The Invisible Hand_ drifted like a steel-grey leviathan through the depths of space, keeping careful watch over the planet below. 

They had opted to hold the event on the Invisible Hand. It made the logistics more difficult, which Jenza took every chance to reiterate, but security was far easier in a closed system. And the count insisted they take the chance to show exactly what an alliance of seceding systems could hope to bring to bear again the Republic’s forces. 

Obi-Wan sat stiffly in the copilot’s seat, his helmet under one arm. He had donned the black and silver vambraces as well, though he’d left the greeves and the breastplate in his apartments. They had seemed excessive for what was supposed to be a party of politicians, but a tense knot twisted in his chest and the lightsaber on his belt did nothing to stifle the dread.

Out of the sun sailer’s viewport, a dozen smaller fighters circled tight formations around the dreadnaught. The ship was manned by the Serenno Security Task Force, civilians trained as what was essentially a soft army. Captain Ji, the human male in charge of the dreadnaught, had been drilling his crew for a week straight to prepare, and the precision in the fighters’ turns said it had paid off. 

“Whoa, did you see that?” 

Anakin’s voice cut into Obi-Wan’s anxious reverie, and the Jedi sat up straighter. “What?” 

Standing at the viewport, the boy glanced over his shoulder then back to space. Avee sat on his shoulder where she usually did, and he leaned with both hands against the glass as he watched the silver ships circle the _Hand_ like condors around a predator. 

“It’s like there’s one pilot for all of them.” Anakin bounced on his toes and swung his head back and forth to keep track of the fighters. Jenza had coaxed the boy into a haircut--nothing as short as a traditional padawan buzz, but much more manageable than the hack job Obi-Wan would have done.

“Aren’t they wizard?”

“Yes.” Obi-Wan gave a wry smirk. “As long as you don’t end up in one yourself.”

Anakin shot him a dirty look in the glass, but it lacked any real venom. “I saved the day.”

Obi-Wan’s smirk softened to a smile, and ignoring a familiar pang, he nodded. “You certainly did.”

Dooku’s voice cut from the back of the ship. “Fortunately, this evening will not require saving. So if we could keep the theatrics to a minimum...”

Anakin frowned at the reproof, but Obi-Wan shot him a long-suffering, conspiratorial look, and the boy’s irritation dissolved into a grin. Obi-Wan nodded to the window, and when Anakin went back to watching the ships, the Jedi turned his chair to face the count. Dooku stood at the back of the cockpit, inscrutable as ever as he adjusted the cuff of his black and silver formal clothes. The count didn’t even glance at him. “Your unease is palpable, Kenobi. Be careful that it doesn’t cloud your judgment.”

Obi-Wan shrugged, trying to quell his churning dread to match the perceived tranquility of his mentor. “I sense this evening isn’t going to go as smoothly as we hoped.”

“Hmm.” It was impossible to say how much of Dooku’s ease was real and not an artfully-crafted illusion, but the count had bet more on this evening than most people ever had to lose. “Nothing ever goes according to plan, my friend, but we are prepared for any eventuality.”

That hardly seemed possible, but Obi-Wan bit back the urge to say so and tried to shift his attention from the ever-shifting future to the present, to the Living Force. It would guide him if only he would let it.

A moment later, the sun sailer entered the _Hand’s_ portside hangar and touched down lightly. The ramp lowered, and Anakin and Avee bolted out. “Come on!” 

Obi-Wan moved to follow him out of the ship, but Dooku caught his arm. “A moment. Are you certain about carrying your lightsaber? It will draw unwanted questions.”

Obi-Wan considered for a moment. Hiding his face was one thing. He could be connected to Anakin, and he wasn’t ready yet to fight off a Sith to protect his padawan. But handing over Qui-Gon’s lightsaber, even to the man who had watched Qui-Gon build it… the thought made dread bloom in his chest. Hiding his face was one thing, but denying what he was? He shook his head. “This weapon is my life. I won’t give it up.”

Dooku gave him a long look, weighing something on a scale only he knew the balance of, then he nodded. “Very well then.”

“Besides,” Obi-Wan slid his helmet on and adjusted it. “I thought you liked the moral high ground.”

At the count’s exasperated sigh, Obi-Wan suppressed a smirk. Then his face fell. “So if I find this Sith spy…”

“Handle it, of course. But knowing who your enemy is can be just as valuable as apprehending them, so try not to threaten any of my guests. We’re independents, not anarchists, and we need as many planets to declare their secession tonight as possible.” 

“Understood, Master.”

“Good.” Dooku went back to adjusting his cuff and strode off the ship. Obi-Wan shook his head and followed.

Waiting for them at the end of the hangar was Jenza. The white and gold crystals embellishing her lavender cape and gown caught the light. She was speaking into a comm and gave them an absent wave of acknowledgment, but there was no hologram to show who it was. Waiting a few paces away was Captain Ji. The captain stood with his hands behind his back in an at-ease pose even though his alert expression said he was anything but easy. 

Anakin sprinted to Jenza, and she hung up abruptly then crouched down to his eye level and gently adjusted his collar. “You look wonderful, dear. Straighten this out and… there.”

Anakin frowned. “Obi-Wan said I can’t go to the party.”

The Jedi sighed, the noise muffled by his helmet and Jenza shot him a glance before saying, “You wouldn’t want to, Anakin. It will be long and dull and full of boring people, and you will have a much better time on the bridge.” 

“I can be good! I programmed Avee with some protocol routines I found, and I want to see Padme.”

Avee beeped in agreement. 

“Ah.” Jenza fixed Anakin’s hair and smiled gently at him. “Perhaps when everything is over, she will stay a few moments to say hello.” 

Anakin hung his head. “Okay.”

She touched his face in a reassuring gesture then turned him towards the captain. “Captain Ji will show you the bridge, and you’ll get to watch how the ship is run. Be good.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He trotted after the captain, droid in tow, then stopped and looked back to Jenza. “You’ll tell Padme I’m here?”

“If she is here, I will let her know. Now go on.”

Satisfied, Anakin waved goodbye to Obi-Wan and left with the captain. 

Jenza straightened to her feet with a groan and fixed an irritated look on her brother. “You were supposed to be here half an hour ago.” 

Dooku offered her his elbow. “And yet we are still early. Still working at this hour?”

She struck him lightly on the shoulder but took his elbow. “I am always working, brother. And tonight is not going to be any different.” She looked over her shoulder and fixed Obi-Wan with a less severe eye. “You look very handsome, dear.” 

He inclined his head. The helmet was light, but it would take some getting used to.

Then the two of them swept into the hall to finish preparing for their guests, and Obi-Wan slid on his helmet and followed at an appropriate distance. The “dining hall” had been another hangar bay four days ago, but it had since been transformed into a hall full of white-linened tables, music, and soft lights. Sheer white fabric draped the walls and disguised some of the harsher lines and rivets of the blast-resistant durasteel. Woodwind music drifted from unseen musicians, and through the blue force field, the moon shone against the black reaches of space. These ships were designed for war not matters of state, but Jenza had recreated a stateroom. 

On the catwalks far overhead, security officers made slow rounds. Their grey and blue suits blended into the steelwork and would hide them from most of the guests’ notice. Captain Ji had insisted, and Obi-Wan was glad for their presence. 

The guests arrived soon after, some coming directly from their home planets and others coming up from planet-side. Many of them traveled with a personal guard or attendants. The count and Lady Jenza greeted each as they arrived, and Obi-Wan hung back several paces as a quiet bodyguard.

Toydaria, Raxus, Geonosis, and more all arrived in solemn state. Queen Amidala arrived in full regalia, bulky crimson and gold robes giving her an air of stability and majesty. Close behind her were three of her handmaidens and Captain Panaka. Whether Padmé herself was among them, Obi-Wan decided not to guess. It didn’t matter which woman wore the crown; the Queen would know everything that happened and chose as if she had been in full regalia. 

Dooku bowed. “Your majesty. If I may say so, you have been an inspiration to us all in these trying times.”

She inclined her head slightly and spoke in her deep accent. “Thank you, Count. Your battle ship is most impressive. We pray that this discord may yet be solved diplomatically that we may have no need of it’s strength.”

“Indeed we all do, your majesty. We must do all we can to avoid war.”

Her gaze flicked to Obi-Wan, and if she frowned, the heavy white makeup concealed it. Then she looked back to the count. “We are glad to see old allies yet remain to us.”

Obi-Wan nodded in acknowledgment. There was no way she could have recognized him.

The queen moved on, and more guests arrived. The Genosians fixed him with a suspicious glare but said nothing, and the representatives from Mon Calamari looked startled to see him. The female representative covered her heart. “Really, Count, allowing a Jedi fugitive at an event like this.”

Dooku raised an eyebrow, but his displeasure was palpable in the Force. “And why shouldn’t we? A single Jedi may be a powerful ally.”

“Or a dangerous enemy.” She shot Obi-Wan a baleful glance. “Does the Order really expect us to trust their representative if he's lurking behind a mask?”

“He is here at my request, and believe me, madam, there are not enough Jedi left for him to represent.

She had the decency to look flustered at that, and when Dooku and Jenza turned to receive the next guest, Obi-Wan watched her disappear into the party. He hadn’t sensed the Dark Side on her, but he might need to watch his own back against more than Sith spies.

A short while later the count and the lady split up to mingle, Obi-Wan followed close behind. A thin haze of anxiety hung over the guests—fear for the future, fear for their people, fear for themselves—but there was an underlining of resolve too, like an iron thread holding the whole thing steady. He passed person after person, looking for anyone suspicious or nervous or, worse, stained with the Dark Side. He still remembered the charge of it like lightning on his skin. He could still hear the rage and pain of the zabrak as he fell into the abyss. 

A few guests glanced at him nervously but there was nothing like that on any of them.

Obi-Wan frowned. He’d have to look harder. 

***

The bridge was busy. People in uniforms strode back and forth and watched consoles and talked on holos, and droids zipped around beeping at each other. Captain Ji presided over it all. He was a serious man and didn’t seem very excited to have Anakin there, but he seemed more worried about impressing Dooku. A lot of people seemed worried about impressing that grumpy old man. 

Anakin sat in the pilot’s seat, and the pilot, a Sallustian named Bin, stood close behind, pointing to screens and switchboards. “And this is the hyperdrive readout, make sure everything is cooking all right back there. And this is the star map here, and it feeds from the nav comm over there.” He pointed to the console on the deck below, and the Natolian sitting there waved. 

Anakin waved back, and Avee waved nervously beside him. She was worried he was going to crash the ship, but they were miles away from anything at all. Besides he wasn’t flying, not really. The ship was too big and slow to do anything but steer a little, even if Bin said she could move fast if they needed her too.

This was way more fun than a stupid party, at least but there was so much to remember to keep the ship from drifting off course bit by bit. Way more than racing pods or even the Naboo starfighter he’d flown. He pointed to a series of switches. “Are those the stabilizers?”

Bin laughed, and his cheeks rippled. “You’re a natural. Might even have a spot for you in a couple of years if you wanna fly the big rigs.”

Anakin shook his head and pointed out the window. “Nah, I wanna fly one of those.”

The silver fighters banked over the bow of the ship and drew careful loops. They were free, freer than birds because they didn’t have to worry about things like the atmosphere. Obi-Wan had been pretty adamant about Anakin not flying one, but maybe he could talk the Jedi into letting him ride co-pilot for a short flight. 

“Ah,” said Bin. “you’re a fighter then. Can’t say I’d pick ‘em myself--too small--but they sure can fly.”

Someone called to the captain, and Ji turned on his heel and strode to an alcove of screens in one corner. He exchanged a few sentences with the others then gestured another officer over. 

Anakin frowned. “What are they doing over there?”

Bin glanced at the captain then flipped a couple of switches on the console. “Eh, looks like they’re having a camera malfunction. Happens sometimes on a ship this big. There’s always something shorting out.”

Anakin sat straighter. “Can they see the party?”

Maybe he could see Padme or the others. 

“We can see every hall of this ship, kid. Why don’t you go ask?”

Anakin hopped out of the seat. “Thanks!” And he ran across the deck and down the stairs to where the captain and the crew members were watching a screen.

Captain Ji must have heard him coming because he looked over his shoulder and held up his hand. “No running on the bridge, Master Skywalker. It makes people think there’s trouble.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He slowed to a walk and stopped in front of the console. “Bin said I could see the party.”

The captain tapped a series of screens labeled “Portside Hangar” in Basic and a couple of other languages. On the greyscale feed, there were a lot of people in fancy clothes standing around. Talking. Were they still talking? It had been close to two hours.

He searched the video for someone he recognized, and after a while, he spied Obi-Wan standing half behind a bunch of chatting politicians in a way that reminded him of what Mom had called “lurking,” a thing that people who snooping did. It was supposed to be a party, why was Obi-Wan snooping?

A flicker out of the corner of his eye caught Anakin’s attention, and he whipped his head toward it. The feed from a hallway labeled “Deck 17” jumped and went static and for a second he thought he saw a figure in the greyscale hall, but then the feed jumped again and it was empty. “Huh.” He frowned and leaned over to tap at it, but his hand caught a button, and a series of warning lights lip up across the dashboard. Oops.

“Oops?” said Captain Ji, and he didn’t sound happy.

“Nothing.” Anakin hit the button again, and the lights flashed faster. “I saw something.”

One of the younger crew members elbowed him aside and messed with the controls for a second before shooting him an annoyed glare. “All systems are normal, sir. Maybe he should go look at the engines or something.”

That wasn’t fair. He hadn’t meant to bump anything. It just happened, and he’d been trying to get a good look at that weird camera. Anakin felt anger bubble in him, and he opened his mouth to vent it, but Captain Ji put a hand on his shoulder. “Lieutenant Fry will show you the ship's engine system, Master Skywalker.”

Anakin knew when adults were trying to get rid of him, but Obi-Wan said he had to control his anger. To not act too soon. 

“Okay.”

“Good. Lieutenant?”

A female human who looked around Mom’s age saluted from across the bridge. “Yessir?” 

“Tell the engine crew their inspection report is late. I want everyone on this ship sharp until every last diplomat is off my ship, and the mechanics are no exception. And take this young man with you.”

“Yessir.” She strode over to Anakin and offered her hand. When he took it, she pumped it once and nodded curtly. “Lieutenant Fry, at your service.”

“Anakin.”

She led him to a turbolift, and as they entered Avee settled on his shoulder and beeped in his ear. 

“What do you mean you’re getting weird static?” he asked. 

Avee repeated herself. She was picking up repeated static on different frequencies, and it made the inside of her plating tickle. 

“Okay. Why don’t you run a diagnostic on the ride down to the engine, and I’ll take a look when we get there.”

Avee beeped affirmatively and idled into a diagnostic mode as they descended into the body of the monstrous ship.

***

Parties were a necessary irritant, Obi-Wan had decided. It had taken the better part of two hours of sifting through the assembled dignitaries and ignoring their glances of pity or distaste, but he’d found his man. Or rather, his Twi’Lek. One of the aides trailing after the senator from Ryloth kept touching his robe pocket and glancing around at the other dignitaries, at Obi-Wan. He might not be the Sith’s spy, but he was certainly hiding something.

A few paces away, Jenza excused herself and headed for another cluster of dignitaries where the young senator from Alderaan looked to be debating the Mon Calamari. Obi-Wan focused on their conversation for a moment, and the barest hint of the conversation drifted to him.

“...non-violence.”

“Dramatic times call for dramatic solutions…” 

“Perhaps the times would not be so dramatic if…”

“Hah! A trial is the last thing...”

Dooku took a champagne glass from a passing waiter and turned casually to Obi-Wan, and the Jedi refocused and stepped forward. “Your grace. How is the evening going?”

“Mandalore and Rodia are not coming. It seems they’ll be claiming neutrality in the coming months,” Dooku said with a sniff of irritation. 

Since he couldn’t say he was surprised, Obi-Wan just raised his shoulders. There would be a lot of planets scrambling for middle ground as the chasm between the Core and the Outer Rim widened at the speed of light.

“And you?” Dooku asked.

“I think I’ve found him.” Obi-Wan nodded slightly in the direction of the Twi’Lek diplomats. “Carrying a comlink or something he wouldn’t leave alone.”

“Remember what I told you--”

The Mon Calamari laughed in a way that made Obi-Wan’s skin crawl, and his attention flicked to their conversation. Jenza’s spine was rigid, and the Alderanni senator--Organa, maybe--looked annoyed. Whatever they were talking about, the words “Jedi” and “trial” drifted over the din of the crowd, and the bite in them said they were not said with charity.

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw then relaxed it. “Yes, Master. No scene.”

“Good.” Dooku took a sip of champagne then set the flute on a passing waiter’s tray. “I must speak with Pantora before I begin my speech.”

“May the Force be with you.”

Then Dooku was gone, winding his way to the Pantorans through a sea of diplomats. Obi-Wan would gladly leave the politics up to his master. Across the room, the Twi’Lek aide touched his pocket again and half-pulled a small metal object into the open before stuffing back down. Let Dooku persuade. The Jedi had other matters to attend to.

***

Lieutenant Fry walked Anakin down the hall towards the engine room, a room like a cave with a big console sitting in the middle and portions of the engines poking through the walls. A duo in greasy jumpsuits leaned against the console, joking and laughing with the technician watching the screens. The lieutenant marched up to the console like she meant business, and Anakin stayed well back. He hadn’t come down here to watch people get in trouble. He’d only known Miss Fry for a couple of minutes, but he knew the kind of boss you didn’t want to make mad when he saw one.

The mechanics must have known it too ‘cause when they saw her coming, they snapped to attention, but the technician was a couple of seconds too slow. The lieutenant was on him in a heartbeat: “Are you on duty or not, soldier?”

The technician saluted and paled. “Ma’am, I am, ma’am.”

“Then why doesn’t the captain have the report you owed him twenty minutes ago?”

Now the mechanics looked sick. “Uh, a couple of the starboard fuel injectors are on the fritz. Nothin’ major, but we wanted to fix it up before we sent up the report.”

“And you’re fixing them standing here?” she demanded.

“No, ma’am. We sent Hal with a couple of droids. He’s new and--”

Anakin backed out of the engine room into the adjoining hall. He wanted to see the hyperspeed engine, but not that bad. He’d come back later. 

Avee butted his shoulder with an anxious trill. 

He patted her top plate. “It’s okay, Avee. They won’t even notice we’re gone. It’ll be more fun to explore on our own.”

Avee clicked like she very much doubted that, but they would be fine. He looked up and down the hall and pointed left. “Let’s go this way. I think I can see more engine rooms down there.”

Whirring in protest, Avee settled on his shoulder and held onto his shirt with her pinchers. She was a little top-heavy to balance well, but riding helped save her battery, and he wasn’t sure how long it would be until the party would be over and she could charge again. Better to be safe since she would know the way back to the bridge if they got lost.

They poked around for a few minutes, trying every door and getting an “Access denied” at every one. Which didn’t make sense since they were in space, and there was no way anybody who wasn’t supposed to be here could have gotten on the ship.

This hallway looked familiar. Oh, it had been the one on the camera that had gone fuzzy. “Come on, Avee. It’s probably that broken camera causing your static head.”

Avee beeped and hopped off his shoulder, and she drifted back the way they had come. The interference causing the static was getting stronger.

“Aw, come on, Avee. Obi-Wan says a Jedi is supposed to face their fears.”

She beeped once.

“Yeah, I guess you’re not a Jedi. But I’m here. I’ll protect you.”

With one long whine, Avee trailed after him. Anakin followed the room numbers as they counted down towards 1000. That would have to be where the hyperdrive was.

He rounded one more corner and heard voices from up ahead. 

“I don’t see why we’re wasting time with the engine when we could be upstairs bagging six more bounties. It’s free for the pickings up there.”

“Because bagging the target doesn’t do you any good if you can’t get away to cash the payment. This is basics, moron.”

Anakin grabbed Avee out of the air and ducked against the wall in the shadows. Careful, slow, he peeked around the corner. 

Kneeling in front of an open access panel were a Trandoshian and a human male, hooking some kind of black box to the engine lines with a lot of wires. They weren’t wearing the uniforms or jumpsuits of people who worked on the ship, and a sick feeling grew in Anakin’s stomach. Mom had tried to keep him away from bounty hunters and mercenaries on Tatooine, but they had sometimes come into Watto’s shop. He’d even seen a few betting on pod races, or worse, picking up targets who had come to bet and left in cuffs. Or in pieces.

Avee shook in his hands, and he patted her. They had to get out of here. He had to find Obi-Wan.

He shuffled back a step, then another and back into something thin and solid.

“Well, well,” said a soft voice that made his stomach twist. “What do we have here?”

***

Obi-Wan stood close behind Jenza, which gave him the perfect view of his mark. The Twi’lek aide shifted nervously back and forth and kept crossing and uncrossing his arms. The crowd gathered to hear Dooku’s speech was giving him some cover, but it would be a simple matter to steal the contents of the aide’s pocket, and then Obi-Wan would know if he had to arrange a more personal chat with the suspect spy.

Dooku took the dais--part of the hangar’s transformation from utility to hospitality--and he raised his glass in a toast. “My friends. Honored guests. I want to thank you all for coming tonight. Your courage and your resolve give me strength in these troubled times. You all know why we have gathered here--” 

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes, gaze fixed on Dooku but his focus on the Twi’Lek. His quickened heartbeat. The hitch in his breath. He stood with his hands behind his back and opened one palm while he narrowed his focus to the contents of his pocket. It was small. This might be easier than he thought. Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan imagined the small, metallic object as a stone drifting around him in meditation. 

“--For years they have neglected us, allowed us to be overrun by pirates and the greed of corporations and guilds. But when the Grand Republic has means to aid us, what do they do? Murder their oldest allies without trial, occupy our homes! Even now the Senate is stationing troops on your own planets to keep us in line.”

Scattered applause of agreement broke out among the crowd then grew. 

Obi-Wan called the object to him, and a commlink smacked into his hand. He pocketed it and opened his eyes. This could be what he needed to 

“But no longer. We will not bow to tyranny--”

The Force rippled darkly, cold, and a familiar pang of fear, Anakin's fear sang out. Obi-Wan lurched forward almost involuntarily to grab Jenza’s wrist. “Something’s wrong,” he whispered.

Jenza half-turned toward him. “What do you mean? What is it?”

An ill intent, close and pointed as a knife spinning in the air and just about to strike. 

"Anakin. I have to find him." Stupid. Complacent. He had been gallivanting around the party while his padawan was in danger. The Force-damned Sith might already have found him.

Jenza paled but pulled a commlink from her pocket. "I'll contact the captain."

"I'm going to look for him." Obi-Wan turned to elbow his way out of the hangar, but Dooku stopped short in the middle of his sentence. Obi-Wan snapped his head towards his grandmaster in case the older man had caught wind of what was wrong with Anakin. he count swiveled his head left as if looking for something, and the crowd began to murmur. Then he flinched. 

A blaster shot rang out. 

Dooku staggered back, hand over his shoulder. One step. Another. 

Then the count crumpled to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience for this update! This chapter got out of control so I've ended up splitting it into two (maybe three) parts. 
> 
> Obi-Wan's blood pressure is through the roof, but you can't have a party without fancy clothes so here are some references I like.
> 
> Queen Amidala, fashion icon, is wearing the Queen Jamilia concept art dress from this Detroit Institute of Art article:  
> https://www.dia.org/starwarsmediakit
> 
> Jenza:  
> https://antonioscouture.com/portfolio/fall-winter-2019/#&gid=1&pid=15
> 
> Dooku, because apparently finding men's fashion that doesn't have lapels is really hard:  
> https://www.vogue.com/fashion-shows/spring-2018-menswear/balmain/slideshow/collection#2
> 
> Obi-Wan:  
> https://www.vogue.com/fashion-shows/fall-2015-menswear/lee-roach/slideshow/collection#6


	7. The Dissevering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of an assassination attempt, the party becomes further divided. Obi-Wan scrambles to deal with the assassin and find his lost padawan.

Dooku stopped short in the middle of his sentence, and Obi-Wan’s gaze snapped back to him. The count swiveled his head left as if looking for something, and the crowd began to murmur. Then he flinched.

A blaster shot rang out.

Dooku staggered back, hand over his shoulder. One step. Then another.

Obi-Wan lunged.  The crowd had gone  perfectly  still,  all of  them suspended in one horrible moment, and he shoved them aside, hacking a path with his elbows. Not fast enough. He was never fast enough.

Where had the shot come from?

Dooku’s knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground in an unceremonious heap. Someone screamed.

The moment snapped like sheering metal.  Horrified, discordant shouts rang out across the crowd as it rippled, trying to pull together and apart as the diplomats panicked. But they didn’t matter. Obi-Wan shoved free of them to the dais,  vaguely  aware of Jenza on his heels. Leaping to stand over his felled master, he ignited his lightsaber, and it sung in his hand.

Security officers fanned into the room, searching for the assassin, and bodyguards covered their senators and rulers against a follow-up attack.

So much for diplomacy.

Jenza scrambled onto the dais and skidded to her knees beside her brother. There was a noise like her skirt catching and tearing, but she didn't pay it any mind. “Yan! Yan Dooku, don’t you dare--”

Obi-Wan searched for the Twi’Lek he’d been watching, but someone else broke for the door. He had them. He bolted after them, was on them in an instant, sliced their pistol sliced in two and heard it clatter to the ground. The human woman cursed. She backed away, reaching for another weapon, but his was already singing, and this time he took her hand with it. Snarling, she staggered back. “Jedi!”

He coiled himself to spring after her, but she threw herself at him instead, knocked him to the ground. Something snaked around his lightsaber and yanked it from his hand. He grabbed  blindly  after it and caught nothing.

That wasn't good.

Obi-Wan flipped back to his feet and saw his lightsaber hit the assassin’s hand with a long cord reeling into her sleeve.

She darted for the hangar exit again, the Jedi close on her heels. She was fleeing the ships that would get her off the Hand, but she might be running toward friends. He remembered the thrill of fear he’d felt from Anakin before everything went to hell. What the blazes had the boy gotten himself into?

Obi-Wan ran faster.

She skidded through the door with surprising speed for her attendant’s robes. She must have stolen them and snuck aboard in one of the guest’s retinues. She veered left. Deeper into the ship. Obi-Wan skidded after her, the Force crying in warning as a smoke bomb denotated in his face.  He coughed and lurched through it--the thick, putrid smoke rang tears from his eyes--but when he emerged on the other side, she had vanished.

“Blast.”

The hangar behind him echoed with shouts, some panicked, other demanding answers no one had yet.  They  were supposed  to be declaring their secession from the Republic, not fending off assassins--

Dooku.

He stutter-stepped and glanced back, but the Force urged him on. 

This wasn't like Qui-Gon, alone in some reactor chamber with no one but Obi-Wan to help and to fail him. Jenza was there. The crew was there. Obi-Wan had to do what he’d trained for.

He gritted his teeth and ran after the assassin.

***

The pale Palliduvian smiled in a way that made Anakin’s skin crawl. She grabbed him, and he thrashed and kicked. “ _Chuba! Kapa ovv ji_!”

He aimed for her kneecap, but her long arms kept him well back as she dragged him towards her friends. “Look what I found, boys.”

The Trandoshian looked up from his work and hissed, his tongue flicking in and out. “Where did he come from?”

“I don’t know, Vareb.” She shook Anakin, holding the back of his shirt so he stood on his toes. “How’d you find us?”

He spat and jerked at her hold. “ _Kapa ovv ji, murishani kung_.”

He wasn’t sure they didn’t speak Huttese, but it might be safer if they thought he couldn’t answer their questions. If they thought he was dumb, they might leave him alone.

She hoisted him higher so he had to grab his shirt with one hand to keep from choking. “Try again.”

“ _Hi chuba di naga_?”

How had he gotten caught so easy? All that time he’d spent running with Obi-Wan, hiding, and he’d gotten snagged the instant he was on his own.

The Trandoshian hissed. “Anyone know what he’sss sssaying?”

“No, but  I think  he understands us. Don’t you, kid?” She shook him, but he shook his head.

Avee whirred  anxiously  under his arm, and he hugged her tighter. He had to get them out of this. “Stop screwing around, Aurra. I’m trying to work.” The human male went back to plugging in wires to the black box. It didn’t look like explosives this close up, but whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

Anakin tried to twist away, but Aurra shoved him against the wall. He cracked his head on the steel, rattling his teeth, and stars across his vision as he landed hard on his backside. She pointed a long, boney finger at him. “You’ll stay put if you know what’s good for you.”

He glared at her and held Avee closer.

Satisfied that he wasn’t going anywhere, Aurra turned back to her companions--Anakin wasn’t sure bounty hunters had friends  . She had a long rifle on her back, and a creepy antennae sticking out of her bald scalp. Even when she looked away from Anakin to the others, her presence made the sick feeling in his stomach worse. He  really  was in trouble this time.

“Did you finish the other two?” she asked.

“Easy, Sing.” The human male with dark hair raised on hand in a calming gesture that Anakin had never actually seen work. “Of course I did, I’m Ree _kriffing_ Duptom.  Once these suckers are online, the ship’s internal comms, camera’s and engines will be offline, and they’ll be scrambling in the dark to get back online . Plenty of time for us to get out of here.”

That sounded bad. But  maybe  they’d leave him here.

"What are we gonna do with the kid?” Vareb the Trandoshian narrowed his eyes at Anakin. “We can’t jussst drag him around.”

“He  obviously  belongs to someone up there--” Aurra jerked her chin at the ceiling and the decks above. “So we ransom him. Get a little extra on the side. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

The Trandoshian growled and went back to helping the human with the box. So much for getting left behind for Lieutenant Fry to find.

Hunkered against the wall, Anakin hugged Avee to his chest, and she trembled in his arms. He had to be smart because he didn’t think they would get more than one chance. He had to get them out of this. His heart hammered in his ears.

He could fix this. He could fix this.

Holding Avee, he shifted and felt the hard edge of the meditation cube Obi-Wan had made for him.  It was solid, welded steel that he could hide it in his palm, and Anakin felt his nervous heart slow at the familiar weight of the anchor . He wasn’t alone. The Force was with him. It would guide him, protect him. If he could get back to the hangar, if he could reach his master, Obi-Wan could fix this.

Anakin  just  had to stay alive until then.

He tapped twice on Avee’s plating, the pad of his finger thumping  dully  on the metal as he tapped out a message in the shorthand binary he’d programmed her in.

_Run on three._

She beeped negative.

_Run. Find Jedi. Help._

She trembled harder and beeped no again. Terrified as she was, she wouldn’t go without him.

The Force shuddered, and Anakin sat up. Something had happened. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

The human was muttering to himself, still fiddling with the box when Aurra put a finger to her ear, and the antennae sticking out of her scalp grew longer. “Yeah?” She snapped at the others. “Shut up.”

The other bounty hunters quieted, and Aurra turned her back to Anakin, finger still to her ear. “A Jedi? Yeah, the old man was one.”

The Force curled around him, urged him. This was his chance. Anakin rocked to his feet and froze. None of the bounty hunters looked his way. He took a step away from them. Then another. Five steps. Fifteen.

“What?” Aurra shouted. “There aren’t anymore Jedi. Where in the nine hells did he come from?”

Keep going, the Force whispered. He straightened and backed away at full speed now. One foot after the other until he reached the intersection that brought him here in the first place. The Force pulled at him, and he broke into a dead sprint in the way it led. Avee dropped from his arms and whizzed along behind him.

“Hey! He's making a break for it!”

Anakin didn’t stop.

Shouting and cursing broke out behind him. Anakin swerved into another hall and ran faster, but the passages looked the same. How did he get back to the engine room with Lieutenant Fry? 

The Force was still leading him. He could hear it calling his name in voice that was kind of familiar but distant, but it wasn’t leading him back to where he was supposed to go. They were going deeper into the ship.

He took another corner, and ran faster.

Avee beeped a warning a half second before Vareb leapt in front of him.

Anakin shouted and skidded, but the Trandoshian grabbed him, and his long hand went all the way around Anakin’s upper arm in a vice grip. “Not ssso fassst.”

He yanked, but the boy punched him twice in the soft spots. Hard. Like he’d learned on Tatoonie. Fast. Like Obi-Wan had taught him. Vareb doubled over instinctively, and Anakin jabbed at the sickly yellow eyes. Something squished. Victory swelled in his chest, but Vareb backhanded him, and Anakin saw black.

Somewhere in the distance, Avee screamed. 

Vareb roared in pain and let Anakin go, and the boy dragged back blind. He blinked a couple times and his vision came back.

Screaming, Avee whipped her electric arm back and forth, hit the bounty hunter again and again. She didn't have the voltage to take him down, but she could make sure it hurt. Anakin ducked under the Trandoshian’s flailing arms and sprinted down the hall. “ _Boska, Avee, jee-jee haba ta bolla!”_

At his call, Avee disengaged and zipped after him. A blaster shot glanced off the wall, spitting sparks, and Anakin threw his arms up to protect his face. Another shot pinged Avee’s plating. Then another. 

Avee dropped to the floor, sparking and smoking and beeping discordantly. 

Anakin’s heart twisted, and he screamed. “Avee!”

They had _hurt_ Avee. They had hurt his _friend ._ The Force howled to him, echoed his anger and his fear like the roar of a krayt dragon. Vareb and Aurra were running down the hall toward him, and Anakin roared and threw out a hand. 

The Force lashed out, slamming the bounty hunters into the floor and buckling the walls. 

He reeled back a step, suddenly lightheaded. His feet carried him a few staggering steps, but a blue bolt of energy caught him, and all his limbs locked up. He hit the ground hard, his head swimming. 

“I’m gonna kill that kid,” Duptom muttered somewhere in the distance.

“Did you not see what he did?” Aurra’s sharp voice came back from somewhere else. “He’s one of those Jedi brats. He’s worth more alive than you are.”

“Alive is easy. Republic didn’t say nothing about one piece.”

“Sssave it, Duptom. Wherever there’sss a cub, there’sss a grown one not far behind.”

Then a clawed hand grabbed Anakin by the heel and tossed him over Vareb’s shoulder, and he hung limply as they carried him deeper into the ship. 

***

Jenza felt sick with adrenaline as she fell to her knees beside her brother. She grabbed his face, nails digging into his face as she turned it toward her, and he hissed. Alive. She thanked the ancestors, the Force, whoever was listening that she hadn’t  been left  behind again. 

She was going to kill him. 

A handful of security officers closed around them in a protective ring, closing them off from the rest of the party.  Dully, the thought occurred to her that they had to get control of the situation or risk losing all the allies they had persuaded to the cause.  She glanced through the officers, and the crowd seemed to be stilling, but the cacophony of their voices was too much to parse.  As a child, she had often dreamed of being Force sensitive, envied her brother’s ease in reading people, but she didn’t have to be a Jedi to feel the tension in the hangar.

She couldn’t blame them. How had this happened?

Yan groaned and sat up, cradling his left shoulder which  was blackened  with blaster burns with a smoking hole in the fabric.  He’d flinched  just  before the shot hit, and his reflex had put the wound at the edge of his collar bone instead of somewhere more lethal.

He exhaled  slowly  through his teeth and scanned the crowd. “Kenobi--”

Obi-Wan had run off chasing the assassin deeper into the ship. Alone. Stupid, brave boy. “He’s handling it.”

“Ma’am,” said one of the officers standing over them. “There’s a medic team on the way.”

Yan hissed with irritation. “I’m fine.”

“You  were shot!” Her voice came out sharper and higher than she meant it to, but she didn’t care.

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t think--”

He caught her wrist and held it  firmly  as if trying to anchor her. “Jenza. We cannot afford to lose our momentum. What we are doing here is too important.”

He was right. He was alive, and they had to work fast to get control of the situation, or they would lose allies  quickly  . “I’ll take care of it. Be still.” She grabbed his uninjured shoulder to hold him still, but he used her resistance as a brace to get to his feet.  His left arm hung  stiffly  , but he drew himself back up to his full height, pushed through the security team, and raised his uninjured hand to catch the attention of the crowd. “Friends!”

Instantly, the panicked diplomats stilled.

“Friends,” Yan continued. His voice was steady. “I am unharmed. Do not  be cowed by  the act of cowards. The assassin will  be apprehended  , and we will show the Republic that we will not  be deterred by  any show of force.”

He descended from the dais and moved through the crowd projecting his voice through the hangar.  “The Republic sent this assassin because they fear our resolve and the strength of our numbers  . They seek to frighten us with a coward’s attack, but we must show them that we will not  be cowed.”

“If they can find a way to attack you on your own ship,” said one voice. “I see no hope for the rest of us.”

Murmurs of agreement flew about the room, and Jenza’s stomach turned.

Yan turned  sharply, left fist clenched against his side. “As long as the Senate continues in its unchecked corruption, there will be nowhere and no one safe. Even if we all swear allegiance to them, how long until they turn on us as well?”

Jenza clasped her hands together and shuddered, trying to shake the last of the adrenaline from her system  . She needed to think. After a few more breaths, she reached into her pocket for her commlink to call Captain Ji.  They needed to lock down all escape routes before the assassin tried anything else, and Obi-Wan would need reinforcements.

But her pocket was empty. She checked the other one, then the first again. Nothing but a tube of lipstick and a handkerchief she’d stashed there hours ago.  There were sensitive call logs on that device, business with the Serenno Assembly, with representatives from other planets in this room. Personal business.

Where was her commlink?

But the arguing of the collected diplomats broke into her thoughts.

“We have no proof this was an attack by the Republic.” The Toydarian king stroked his beard. “Forgive me, Count, but you have not exactly been quiet since you returned to Serenno.”

"Who else would orchestrate such a thing? Trying to silence us."

“The Geonosians have agreed to sell us an army,” said Orn Free Ta,  loudly  before anyone else could speak. “It will not matter how many enemies we have, we will be able to fight back!”

Half shouts of approval rose and fell. Jenza made eye contact with a few of the other guests, and she could see them wavering.  This enterprise had always  been hung by  the finest of threads, but one blaster shot had frayed it to a single strange, and she wasn’t sure Dooku’s brand of iron will could hold it . If they failed, if they were alone, this new aggressive Republic would raze Serenno. They would make sure no sedition ever grew there again.

Senator Organa clenched his jaw but looked the Twi’Lek in the eye. “If this movement lacks conviction, all the armies the world will not preserve it.”

Jenza crossed to Queen Amidala. “Your majesty, please say something.”

Amidala gave her a weighty look, and Jenza knew the young queen was weighing the situation herself.  Looking at the young woman, steel spined under the weight of her regalia, Jenza  was reminded  of the stories of what had happened on Naboo only a few months past.  The horrors the Trade Federation had wrought in such a short occupation would have broken many five times Amidala’s age.

Jenza glanced at her brother and saw the sharp retort in his face, but the deep, imperious voice of Queen Amidala spoke first  . “In our experience, senators, if powerful men wish you dead, it is a sign you are on the correct course. Naboo will endure no more threats against her people, occupation, assassin, or otherwise. _Our_ resolve is not shaken.”

That sobered the crowd.  It was well and good, Jenza knew, for House Dooku to preach secession with their dreadnaught and their security force, but Naboo . Jenza could feel the thread strengthening with Amidala’s declaration.

The gathered crowd turned to each other, some lost in thought, others murmuring and gesturing to their aides  .  A security officer approached and looked about to call Yan, but the queen tilted her head back to look the much taller count in the eye. “You should see to your injury, Count.”

“I assure you I am quite fine.”

“Perhaps. But if you want allies as  we believe  you to, you must learn to trust them.”

Yan looked about to argue, but his gaze flicked to the security officer who stood nearby, and he frowned. “ Perhaps  you’re right, your majesty. I will leave them to your capable hands. Excuse me.”  He bowed and retreated from the party, the officer close on his heels, and as they went, Jenza heard something about the comm and security systems.

Jenza sighed and ran a hand over her face. No rest for the wicked.  Hopefully, the stubborn old man actually went to the med center when he  was done  with whatever had caught his attention.

“And you, my lady? You look pale.”

Startled, Jenza whipped her head to the queen. “What? Oh, yes. Age and sudden shocks don’t mix well, I’m afraid, but thank you. I’m fine.”

The handmaidens exchanged glances, but the queen nodded. “The Jedi went after the assassin?”

“Yes.”

“It may be enlightening to know who arranged this attack.”

Jenza smiled. “I’m sure he has everything well in hand.”

***

For a ship full of straight halls and right angles, the _Hand_ was built  like a Force-damned maze.

Obi-Wan had tracked the assassin down through the ship to the level of the main engine—she’s  practically  run straight here—but she’d given him the slip  .  She moved  surprisingly  fast for someone who had  just  lost a hand, but  maybe  the knowledge that she was being pursued by a Jedi whose lightsaber she had stolen was enough to push her through the pain .

He skidded to a stop and looked down every identical hall of the four-way intersection. He’d stopped at a comm station to get the bridge to track the assassin on the security cams, but the system had been dead. None of his calls had gone through, and now he was in the belly of the ship alone with an assassin who was going somewhere. It had to be to friends, and running into an unknown number of bounty hunters with no weapon seemed ill-advised, but if he caught her first and got his lightsaber back...

Qui-gon had always told him to trust his instincts. He ran left.

As Obi-Wan passed one of the smaller service halls, he spied a hulking shadow close to the ground, and he jumped, slamming his back against the wall for cover .

But no shot came, no shout.  He peeked around the corner and spied, not a bounty hunter lying in wait, but a black crate tied to the wall by a rat’s nest of wires .

Obi-Wan inspected it and realized it was a relay dead box. This must have been why the comms were dead. Who knows what other systems they had offlined.  He sighed and ran a hand over his face then used the Force to tear off the casing and crush the internal circuitry to sparking, crumpled mass . Nothing as elegant as Anakin might have managed, but he was in a hurry.

He strode away from the ruined machinery, taking a few more turns until his boot knocked something on the ground  .  When he looked down, it was a small droid, it’s familiar white and red plating twisted and rent in an ugly blaster shot damage.

Avee. His heart dropped into his stomach, and he dropped to one knee over the downed droid. “Avee. AV-6.”

Her optic flashed  weakly, and she gave a sighing trill. He wasn’t an expert in droids, but the damage looked extensive. A blaster, close range. He was afraid of the answer, but he had to know.

“Where is Anakin?”

She raised one trembling arm to  indicate  down the hall. Obi-Wan gritted his teeth. “All right. Wait here. I’ll be back with Anakin.”

She trilled again, but it trailed off to quiet, and her optic blinked twice before shutting down.

Obi-Wan laid her on the floor against the wall where she wouldn't  be disturbed  then got to his feet. Bounty hunters  be damned. He was going to get his padawan back.

***

The bounty hunters were moving fast.  Anakin tried to lift his head, but his skull still throbbed from the stun bolt and from when he’d lost control and blasted them with the Force  .  Every time the Trandoshian jostled him, his eyes watered, and he couldn’t wipe them because his hands  were cuffed  together .

Was Avee okay? They had  just  left her there, smoking on the floor.

They went around a corner fast and jerked to a stop, and his arms swung.  Blasters clicked, and he thought  maybe  Obi-Wan had found them, but then everyone relaxed .

“Drea. What the hells happened to you?” Duptom asked. Duptom, Anakin had decided, was the most annoying. Definitely the loudest.

A new voice hissed, and she sounded like she was in pain. “Damn Jedi took my hand. But I got his lightsaber.”

The Trandoshian laughed, and his shoulders heaved with the sound, rattling Anakin’s teeth  . She must have been talking about Obi-Wan. Anakin closed his eyes and tried to think. He felt like he should  be worried  about whoever they were shooting at, but his head hurt too much.

“And the target?” Aurra snapped.

“Didn’t stick around to find out if the shot took.”

“What? You had one job--”

“And now I’m missing a hand, are you happy?”

“And you led him right to us. Idiots.” Aurra growled. “You two! Go look for him. Drea, take the kid to the ship. Do not let him get away.”

“Yeah, Drea,” snickered the human male. “Don’t let it get out of hand.”

“Shut up, Duptom.”

“ All of  you, shut up. Go. Now.”

“And where are you going, bossss?”

“I’m going to finish Drea’s job so we make any money off this trip at all. Now go bring me that Jedi’s head in a bag. He’ll pay  just  fine dead.”

They shuffled Anakin off Vareb’s shoulder, and the new bounty hunter, a human female with curly blonde hair grabbed the boy’s collar with her remaining hand and dragged him down the hall toward a small docking port  . So that, he thought  dully , was how they had gotten aboard.

Drea punched in a code with her chin and dragged him aboard. The interior was dim and full of crates and cages half-covered in sheets. If she put him in one of those, he was going to be sick. Anakin dragged back, trying to escape, but she threw him in an even darker closet and locked the door.

In the pitch dark, he staggered into the door and hit his cuffs on the lock. It chimed and stayed sealed. Useless. Stupid door.

“ _Whao Obi-Wan unko sa, kako kreespa_.”

“Hey, shut it. You’ll stay there and be quiet if you know what’s good for you.”

He kicked a bucket, and it clattered around the tiny room before rolling to a stop at his feet. He was cold. He hadn't noticed it before with all the running and the fear. But now in the dark, he felt very cold. And very alone. Avee  was hurt  ,  maybe  dead. And the bounty hunters were going to try to kill Obi-Wan. And if Obi-Wan died like Qui-Gon had...

Shivering, Anakin dropped onto the bucket and put his face in his hands and began to cry.

***

Obi-Wan braced himself between the beams of the ceiling, listening to the footfalls of the bounty hunters below. They had been easy to track once he knew what he was looking for.  So strong were their fear and their anger that it was like a sheen of sweat on his own brow in the cold belly of the dreadnaught. There were four of them on his count, none of which he recognized. Whoever was between him and Anakin didn't have a personal grudge. That, he supposed, was a small comfort.

Their indistinct whispers drifted to him, and he reached out again with his feelings for Anakin. His padawan was hazy and angry and afraid. Obi-Wan gritted his teeth, 

He'd seen them, passing his  barely  conscious padawan between them like so much spare parts. It had taken all his self-control to hold back, to wait.  Without his lightsaber, he couldn't take four bounty hunters and guarantee Anakin's safety, and after all the two of them had survived, that was a risk Obi-Wan wasn't willing to take. The boy would have to hold on for a few minutes more.

One of the bounty hunters appeared on the edge of Obi-Wan's line of sight. The human male. A pistol in each hand, swinging one way and then the other as he made his way down the hall looking for the Jedi.

Obi-Wan let the man walk under him and  nearly  past. One step more. He let himself fall. His momentum did the rest.

The bounty hunter lay on the ground, limbs askew and still. His pistols lay several meters away, not a shot fired.

Quiet as a panther, Obi-Wan searched the downed man and relieved him of two knives, a line of raze thin wire, and another pistol.  The Jedi lifted all three blasters with the Force and tightened his hand to a fist, and the pistols obeyed by snapping into scrap.

A deep, hissing voice echoed through the halls. “Duptom? Where did you go?”

Obi-Wan slid the knives and wire into his belt and slipped back into the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anakin's Huttese in order of appearance:  
> “Chuba! Kapa ovv ji, murishani kung!” - Hey! Hands off me, bounty hunter scum.  
> "Hi chuba di naga?" - what do you want?  
> “Boska, Avee, jee-jee haba ta bolla.” - Come on, Avee, we have to go!  
> “Whao Obi-Wan unko sa, kako kreespa.” - When Obi-Wan gets here, you’re dead (gonna fry).
> 
> @rktho_writes (https://archiveofourown.org/users/rktho_writes/works) here on AO3 did the Huttese translations! Thank you again!
> 
> Another chapter, another drama! I was excited to write a little from Jenza's POV and will hopefully get to develop her more in the upcoming chapters. This chapter also got long, and there will be 1-2 more chapters dealing with this content before we get back to Depa and co. 
> 
> Drea is an OC but Aurra Sing and Ree Duptom are canon. I stole Vareb straight outta SWTOR.


	8. The Ties That Bind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dooku is a terrible patient and finds himself face to face with his assassin. Obi-Wan cuts a straight swathe back to his padawan.

Dooku strode through the ship with the petty officer jogging to keep up. It might have been more considerate to slow his pace, but his arm and shoulder were getting stiff, and he disliked the idea of having an arm unavailable while an assassin still roamed the halls. He was getting old, recovered less quickly than he once had. His skill with the Force had never tended toward healing, but pushing through pain had always been a strength of his. It kept his senses sharp. Something told him he would need to be sharp.

The harried petty officer was explaining that the comms and security cameras were down ship-wide. The Captain had ordered a sweep of every deck, and the hangar was secure with no further signs of assassins or bounty hunters. That was some consolation. The rulers and senators had been spooked, but Amidala had taken them well back in hand. She would be a valuable ally in the coming months. 

“And the searchers have orders to keep an eye out for your grands— Mister Skywalker.”

Dooku gave the petty officer a withering glance for the slip but said nothing. He had better things to do than engage the gossip mill, and Jenza carting young Skywalker everywhere hadn’t helped. She had a deep sentimental streak and had become attached to the boy on sight.

His sister's foibles he would have to forgive. What irritated him more was that the crew had misplaced the boy mere hours after he should have been secure on the bridge. But on further reflection, perhaps that was no fault of the crew’s. The boy was a terror. Undisciplined, unfocused, always looking for trouble. What Qui-Gon had seen in him besides raw power, Dooku had yet to parse out. But he was an inextricable part of Dooku’s lineage. It would not do for any ill to befall him. 

“As soon as he’s found, I want him taken to the hangar and put in the care of my sister.”

“Understood, sir.” 

“No sign of the Jedi?”

“None, sir.” 

Dooku frowned. Wherever Obi-Wan was, he had found trouble. Typical. There would be more of his lineage dead than living at this rate.

At that thought, Dooku's scowl deepened. The boy had killed the first Sith in centuries and there was still a burning drive in him. To prove himself, perhaps, to compensate for some failure he would not speak aloud. Dooku wondered if his new apprentice had always carried that weight or if it was a fresh wound. It could drive Obi-Wan to great things--even the destruction of the sith--if properly tempered with experience and wisdom. Unchecked... the count did not doubt he would find himself mourning another apprentice. 

He would have to deal with that, but he had other business first. “Keep up the search, and take the bounty hunters alive if you can. I want to know who they’re working for.” 

The officer saluted. “Yes, sir.” And he ran off to carry out his orders. 

Dooku reached the med bay and entered a clean, white space where the chaos had yet to reach. A necessary delay. A middle-aged medic stood chatting with a colleague when they both noticed the count sweep into the room. 

“Oh, your grace. What brings you—“ The man’s eyes bulged. “Good ancestors, have you been shot?”

Dooku gave him an irritated look. “That seemed fairly obvious. I hope your medical treatment is as keen as your observational skills, doctor.”

“Huh? Oh, yes. Yes, sir. Let’s take a look.” The doctor looked around with a flustered expression then gestured to one of the examination tables. His colleague took herself to the other side of the room, and the petty officer stood at a respectful distance. Dooku took a seat, and the medic pulled on gloves before leaning in to inspect the wound. He was an energetic, balding man who looked entirely too optimistic for his profession. He peeled back the burned fabric and peered at the wound. “Can you move your arm?”

“Not well.” 

The medic grabbed some scissors from his instruments. “Sorry, gonna have to cut the tunic back to get a good look at it. Hey, Miri, can you grab me an anesthetic? Local.”

The other doctors went for a cabinet, but Dooku waved dismissively. “It’s fine.” 

“Oh, are you sure?”

His system would burn through the anesthesia too quickly for it have any real effect, and the pain was persistent but tolerable. He'd had far worse.

“Quite.”

“All right.” The medic didn’t sound convinced, but he made one snip and then another, careful not to brush the wound or apparently to cut stiff the fabric because the sheers did nothing. He frowned and reached for a sturdier pair of scissors. “What is this? It’s like cutting steel wool.”

“Blast-resistant weave.” Like most of his wardrobe. Dooku wasn’t a fool. More than one person had taken a shot at him during his recent speaking tour, and while the weave wouldn’t stop a shot outright, it could be the difference between a painful wound and a lethal one.

The medic blinked. “Ah. You must really have expected something to go south.”

Dooku didn’t deign to answer, only tilted his head further away from the scissors.

The medic cut back the tunic and cleaned the wound before applying a bacta patch to it, prattling on the whole time. He was a proficient medic but an insufferable conversationalist. “Eh. I’ve seen worse in my day. No serious tissue damage, doesn’t look like they hit any tendons, but it’ll be sore in the morning.” He made a noise like he was laughing at his own joke. “Suppose it’s sore now. Bet you’ve had a lot of these in your old day-job, huh?” 

Dooku gave him a disinterested look. “If you’re quite finished with the editorializing.” 

“What? Oh yeah. Sorry. I’ll stitch the shirt up, have you right as rain.” And he strung a needle with black thread and began closing the cuts in the shirt. “We’ll get you a sling. I’d like to keep you overnight for observation, change the bacta, make sure it doesn’t get infected--”

“Unacceptable. I have business to attend to.”

The medic prattled on like he hadn’t heard. “Then rest the arm for a couple of weeks, and we’ll schedule a follow-up--” 

The Force hummed in warning. Another attack. Dooku grabbed the medic’s wrist and twisted it so the man cried out and dropped his needle. The petty officer reached for the blaster on his hip. But no, the whimpering doctor and his stunned colleague weren’t plotting any treachery. The danger was outside and coming for him. It was close. 

Dooku dropped the man’s hand and got to his feet. “Go in the back room.”

The medic hissed and rolled his wrist. He was pale and startled. Maybe Dooku had twisted his arm farther necessary. 

“Sorry for sticking you, your grace," he said, "But you’re the one who wouldn’t take anesthesia.” 

Dooku got to his feet and dusted off his sleeve. “Something is coming. I suggest you and your staff not be here when it does.”

The remaining blood drained from the medic’s face, and his gaze flicked to the wound in the count’s shoulder. “You mean—“

But Dooku had moved past him to the door and stood listening. The sound of dull, purposeful footsteps echoed in the hallway outside and with it the rank churning in the Force of a creature out for blood. 

A complication. But hardly an unmanageable one. 

To his credit, the officer had his blaster ready. "Sir, should I call for backup?" 

"You recently informed me that none of our comms are working, so no. I will see to this. Go with the medics."

"Sir, I don't think--"

"I didn't ask you to. That was an order." 

The officer did go with the med center staff, all retreating to a back room, but the medic who had treated him stopped. “What about—“

Dooku gestured to the back room door, and it slid shut and locked. It wasn’t any guarantee against the assassin, but in his long experience, he had found guarantees to be very rare indeed. So he turned to the Force like he had many times as a Sentinel, pulling it like a cold, familiar shroud over his presence. He didn't have his lightsaber, which was tucked into the arm of his seat on the sun sailor. But that was for the best. No one hunting in the dark carried a light with them.

The Force darkened, settled, stilled until he was little more than a shadow lurking on the wall. Then he crooked a finger at the med center controls. The overhead lights flickered out, plunging the med center into darkness lit only by the red emergency lights along the ceiling. 

And he waited. 

***

The Trandoshian was faster than Obi-Wan expected. He’d jumped him, flinging himself around a corner to knock the bounty hunter hard into a wall. It had been a good plan. Until the Trandoshian got back to his feet, still conscious. Obi-Wan had flung the bounty hunter’s blaster well out of reach, and now they circled each other, predators waiting for the other to flinch. 

Vareb hissed. “Ssshoulda known you’d be coming. Wherever there’sss a Jedi brat, there’sss one of you not far behind. But the kid was easy to bag. You’re next.”

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw at the mention of Anakin, but the Trandoshian hissed again. “I’m going to ssskin you, Jedi.”

Obi-Wan raised his fists. “You won’t get the chance.” 

He leaped onto the wall and used the height to land a flurry of blows in the bounty hunter’s face. The Trandoshian grabbed him by the upper arm and slammed him on the ground. Pain burst through Obi-Wan’s back as something popped. A rib maybe. That wasn’t good.

Vareb raised both arms to strike again, but Obi-Wan kicked his legs back over his head, rolled through the Trandoshian’s legs, kicked him hard in the backside. The hunter pitched forward, and Obi-Wan used the space to draw one of the knives from his belt. It wasn’t as heavy as his lightsaber, but it was sharp and flashed in the low light. 

The Trandoshian faced him and drew his own knife, longer and jagged along the cutting edge. “That’sss how you want to play?”

Vareb had size and strength on his side. Unfortunately for him, Obi-Wan had been fighting larger and stronger opponents his entire life. There was no fear.

He let the Trandoshian swing first, and the bounty hunter telegraphed his attack. Obi-Wan ducked both swipes and let the hunter’s momentum carry him onto the knife. It found his shoulder beside the breastplate. Howling, the Trandoshian grabbed Obi-Wan by the throat and threw him against the wall. 

The air left his lungs in a burst, and pain bloomed across the back of his head. But he scrambled back to his feet and crouched low, shaking his head. The helmet shifted slightly, and he made a note to thank Jenza for her foresight. 

A guttural laugh shook Vareb’s shoulders. “Not ssso tough without your lightsssaber.” 

“Maybe.” The Force was with him, in his veins, in every moment before he came to it. “But I’m not the one with a knife sticking out of me.”

As expected, Vareb wrenched the knife from his shoulder and hurled it at Obi-Wan’s head. He dodged, and it glanced off his helmet and skittered away with alarming speed. Despite the pain in his chest, he smirked.

When the Trandosian swung again, Obi-Wan dodged and leaped, wrapping his legs around Vareb’s neck and twisting around to slam the bigger fighter to the ground. Then he locked his arms around his opponent’s neck and held on as the Trandoshian thrashed. Vareb caught the helmet and tore it off, cutting Obi-Wan’s forehead with a long claw as the helmet clattered away. But the Jedi had him pinned, and Vareb’s thrashing grew weaker and weaker until it stopped. 

Once he was certain the bounty hunter was unconscious, he got to his feet. With the wire he’d stolen from Duptom, he lashed the Trandoshian’s arms and legs behind him and then to a length of pipe running along the wall. 

Now that the fight was over, he could feel a shooting pain in his throat and the back of his ribs. Something had definitely popped out of place, and he winced. More importantly, he could feel Anakin’s distress, his fear as sharp as the Trandoshian’s knife. The padawan was alone in the dark, and he needed Obi-Wan at his best. The Jedi glared down at the limp bounty hunter. “I’ll be back for you later.”

And he centered himself, felt the anxiety and the adrenaline, and let them wash over and past him until he could separate his own feelings from his padawan’s. The Force crystalized into a web of ties, lines winding around him and shooting out in every direction. Some to his grandmaster in the upper decks, light ties and dark ones. More ran to Anakin, who sat at the center of his own web, so crisscrossed with ties and fate that Obi-Wan could barely see the boy underneath it all. So much weighed on so young a child.

One line ran far and away to a bright star at the edge of the galaxy. Other lines ran out to the stars and to planets and people he had known, knew, hadn’t met yet--every line branching and refracting in a constellation. One dark line ran to Coruscant, and the sight of it made him cold. If he could only pull at it, pluck it, the dizzying tapestry would unspool.

Obi-Wan reached for it, but the sharp knife of Anakin’s fear turned in his stomach, and he remembered where he was. Who was relying on him. Unraveling the mystery of the Sith would have to wait.

Taking a deep breath, he focused on the borrowed, aching fear, and the feeling focused to one razor string that wound through the halls of the ship to the boy. Obi-Wan let the tapestry fall away and followed the string toward his padawan.

***

The door to the med center chimed once then slid open. The long barrel of a rifle entered first followed by a pale Palliduvian. Female. Tall. Heavily armed. 

She stalked to the center of the room, turning and watching through the barrel of her blaster for her target. Though she likely wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone who got in her way. The door hissed closed.

She reached the center of the room and made another slow sweep check of the shadows. There was nothing to see. 

Undetected in the corner of the center, Dooku watched her with intent wariness. He knew of this bounty hunter. Sing. A few months ago, she’d failed to kill him on Christophsis, and it seemed she had come to finish the job. He rolled his injured shoulder, and pain fanned across his chest and down his arm. 

On Christophsis there had been too many other people watching to deal with it himself, but here there were no witnesses. It would be simple enough to do away with her, even with his injured arm. Prudent even. But he had the unfortunate complication of needing to know who hired her. 

With the barest sound, he moved for the deeper shadows across the room. She whipped her rifle to where he had been. Her instincts were good. Not good enough. 

He raised his right hand. The instruments that had been treating his wounds moments ago rose silently in the air. 

With a clench of his fist, the scalpels and shears and tongs flew at her. She gasped and sprang out of the way, and the instruments embedded themselves in the wall.

She spat a curse at him and fired off two shots, but he threw her back with the Force and clenched a fist, tearing the rifle from her hands. It bent into an unusable sculpture of scrap, which he tossed aside. “Really, Sing.” His voice echoed off the walls. “I expected better from a second attempt. Though… I suppose this is your third if we count your failure upstairs.”

She pulled two more blasters from her hip and spat a curse at him. He wrinkled his nose and slipped back into the shadows. Such unnecessary vitriol clouding her judgment. She fired off five shots in quick succession, but they were wide. 

He circled the shadowed edges of the center, sidestepping each examination table and cabinet of supplies as minor inconveniences. In a previous life, Qui-Gon had called it theatrics. The man had always preferred a more direct approach, but fear had value. It was something a gun-for-hire understood. As were credits. “You may, at least, think of this as a learning opportunity. Whatever the guild is paying, allow me to double it.”

She smirked at the mention of the guild, which meant whoever hired her did so directly. Someone without legitimate contacts. or someone who very much did not want to be traced. 

“No deal.” She shrugged. “Nothing personal. But getting bought out sends a bad message to the other clients.” 

“So does repeated failure. I doubt your client will pay for a flesh wound.”

Her smirk dropped. “Shut up.” 

He waved his hand, and the instruments clattered across the ground. She snarled and swung her blasters toward the noise, but when he wasn’t there, she growled and swung back around. “I’m going to kill you, that Jedi, the kid. And I feel like it, the countess too. I will do whatever it takes.”

Dooku paused as a cold flame of rage ignited in his chest. This measly little bounty hunter had the nerve to threaten him on his own ship? To undermine his work? His lips curled into a sneer. “Then it seems I’ve changed my mind.”

The Force sprang to his call, catching Sing in an iron grip, pinning her arms to her sides and lifting her off the floor. The blasters clattered to the floor. She choked and struggled against the invisible hold. 

The Force hummed in his veins, bent to his will. There were no messy lines here, only the clarity of action, and it tore away any cobwebs that might constrict him. It would be so easy to end her miserable, murderous life and free the galaxy of one more hired gun. Just a flick of the wrist. Qui-Gon would not have approved. But Qui-Gon wasn’t here.

Hand raised, Dooku stalked out of the shadows. “Now. You are going to tell me who hired you.”

*** 

Anakin huddled in the pitch-black closet, hunched over the meditation cube as he turned it over and over in his hands. How long had he been here in this cage attached to the outside of the Invisible Hand? He’d cried out all his tears a while ago, and now his eyes hurt, and his face and sleeves were wet. Crying hadn't fixed anything. He knew it wouldn't. But it had been something to do while he waited for something to happen.

There wasn’t a way out of the closet. No control panel, no vent, no lock. If he was gonna get out of this one, he had to be patient and that was the one thing he wasn’t good at. 

He was sick of this tiny room. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see Avee and Jenza and Padme and know that they were okay. He wanted his mom. 

Anakin turned the cube a little slower between his fingers. Obi-Wan was being slow, but he would come. He’d promised. 

Anakin closed his eyes, even though it was the same in the dark. The Force was with him, big as the desert sky crisscrossed with wispy, white clouds, and he thought that if he picked one, it would take him where he needed to go. He reached into that sky, and the cold metal of the door met his fingertips. But something else met him. Something tugging on the other end of the clouds and winding it up like a string, following it back to him. 

The walls of the ship creaked, and he froze. There was something bright as a sun coming. Something burning.

Obi-Wan.

Anakin leaped to his feet. 

Through the door came the muffled noise of Drea’s cursing and the clicking of buttons on a dashboard. “Kriffing, nerf-spawned, son of a--- Aurra! Duptom, we have company! Where _are_ you--” 

The ship creaked again, then metal rent with a horrible noise. Anakin scrambled to the back of the closet and put his back to the wall. 

Drea cursed again, and he could hear the loud processing whir of droids booting up. Had the bounty hunters had guard droids? He didn’t remember seeing them before he’d been shoved in this tiny room. 

The metal tearing stopped, and in the sudden silence, a muffled, familiar accent said, “Where is the boy?”

“Kill him!” Drea shouted. 

Blaster fire rang out. 

“No!” Anakin threw himself at the door and punched and kicked at it. Useless. Why was he so useless? “Obi-Wan! Master, I’m in here!”

A lightsaber shriek joined the fight, and Anakin hollered as he beat against the door. Then everything was quiet except for Drea’s weak cursing and the lightsaber humming. 

“Your colleagues will not be coming. Where is the boy?”

"He's not here."

“I’m here!” Anakin pounded on the door with both fists. “Help!”

A cry. Then quiet. The door slid open. The hatch door to the bounty hunter's ship had been torn open like a metal can, and the controls hung sparking. Obi-Wan stood in the ruins of the hold, lightsaber in hand, sparking droids in pieces all over the ground. At his feet lay a slumped Drea. The Jedi had lost his black and silver helmet, and long cut across his forehead dribbled blood down his nose into his beard. Around his throat under his torn collar bloomed an ugly purple bruise. Somebody had got him good. 

Anakin stumbled out of his prison, and relief flickered across Obi-Wan’s face. The Jedi turned off his lightsaber and reached a hand out to the boy, but Anakin flew across the space and knocked Obi-Wan back several paces with a hug. “Master!”

Obi-Wan allowed the hug for a moment before he pushed Anakin to arm’s length, crouched, and fixed him with a solemn, concerned look. “Are you hurt?” 

Anakin touched the Jedi’s head just above the cut. It looked deep. The string was all wound up, and the Force shifted its attention to somewhere else on the ship. They were okay.

When he didn’t answer, Obi-Wan’s voice got steely. “Anakin, did they hurt you?”

“No, I’m okay. You don’t look good.”

“I’m fine. How did they find you?” 

“I was looking for the engine.”

“Alone?”

Uh-oh. That was Obi-Wan’s angry voice, the sharp one he pretended he didn’t have. Anakin raised his shoulders in a defensive shrug. He’d gone looking for the engines, not trouble. How was he supposed to know there would be bounty hunters on Dooku’s dumb ship? 

“It wasn’t my fault. Everybody was busy.”

“Anakin, you cannot go looking for trouble. Do you have any idea--” Obi-Wan stopped short and covered his face with one hand. “No. No, I don’t suppose you do. I didn’t want to tell you this because I thought you had been through enough. But maybe I was wrong to keep it from you this long.” 

“What is it?” Anakin squinted at him. Obi-Wan was really good at keeping secrets. Most secrets anyway, so it had to be important if he was sharing this one. 

The Jedi pulled his hand away from his face and seemed to notice the blood for the first time, then he ignored it and looked back to Anakin with a serious face. “Do you remember Naboo?”

Anakin nodded. They didn’t talk about Naboo. For a lot of reasons.

“While you were destroying the Trade Federation ship… Qui-Gon and I fought a Sith warrior.”

Anakin nodded again. He did know this part. The Council had been really wound up about it, and he hadn’t been allowed to hear the whole story, but he knew the important part. They’d fought a Sith, and it had killed Qui-gon, and Obi-Wan had killed it. 

Obi-Wan held up two fingers, red with his own blood. “There are always two Sith. A master and an apprentice. One is dead, which means the other is still out there. I believe they are looking for you.”

For him? Anakin remembered his dreams, the ones he’d had before they came to Serenno and how Obi-Wan had taught him to shield himself and hide. He thought it had been because of the droids. Was it because he was a Jedi now?

Obi-Wan shook his head and put a hand on the padawan’s shoulder. He was sad again, the same sad as when he missed Qui-Gon. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You will be a very strong Jedi someday, and the Sith will want to use that strength for terrible things.” 

Oh. They wanted to use him. Like Watto had used him for racing. Like Aurra had wanted to use him for a payout. 

“I’m not scared.” But he was. He had been scared when he left his mom on Tatooine, scared of the horned warrior on Naboo, scared every time the droids had found them.

Obi-Wan smiled. “But I am. I am afraid that one day I will not be there to protect you.”

Anakin raised his chin and balled his hands into fists and squashed the fear down deep inside himself. “Then I’ll get strong enough to protect myself. I’ll be the strongest Jedi ever, and all the Sith will be scared to mess with us.”

The Jedi looked a little surprised, but he quickly smiled again. “All right then. Let’s get you out of here.” And Obi-Wan clipped Qui-Gon’s lightsaber back to his belt, and the knight and the padawan left the bounty hunter’s cargo hold behind.

***

The party seemed at an end by the time the Jedi returned, or at least as close to an end as anything with ceaselessly chattering politicians got. Obi-Wan's ribs ached. He wanted to sleep, but he brought Anakin into the hangar and waited near the entrance. 

Jenza stood with Queen Amidala, the two of them appearing to be in some sort of alliance as they spoke with the other diplomats. It was an odd balance, Jenza tall and alone, Amidala clad in her regalia and backed by a small army of handmaidens. Anakin spied them and darted forward, but Obi-Wan caught the back of his shirt. "When they're finished, padawan. There will be time." 

Then Jenza spied them out of the corner of her eye, excused herself from the conversation, and rushed to Obi-Wan and Anakin. Upon taking them in, she looked horrified. “You’re hurt!”

“It would have been worse without the helmet. Thank you.” Obi-Wan set Anakin on the ground, and the boy threw one arm around Jenza’s legs, still clutching Avee to his chest with the other arm. “Jenza! Jenza, there were these bounty hunters, and they had these big old boxes and a Trandoshian and--”

“Bounty hunters!” 

“Yeah, and the _murishani sleemo_ shot Avee.” He held up the droid’s body with a forlorn expression. Horror flicked across Jenza’s face, and she set one hand on Anakin’s head and gave Obi-wan a worried look.

“They’re taken care of,” the Jedi offered by way of consolation. “We ran into some security officers on our way back, and the bounty hunters are being taken into custody.”

“Obi-Wan kicked all their butts,” Anakin said with vicious pride. 

“Oh.” She paled, but to her credit, she gave Anakin a warm smile as she straightened his mussed hair. “My brave boys.”

The quiet rustle of footsteps and fabric caught Obi-Wan's attention, and he turned to see Queen Amidala and her handmaidens approaching. 

“Master Kenobi."

Obi-Wan bowed, and Anakin gasped. “Padme?”

The queen tilted her chin up, and the barest smile crossed her lips. “It is good to see you, Anakin. We have been greatly concerned for your safety.”

Star-struck, the boy stared at her, and Obi-Wan suppressed a sigh. He supposed a childish crush couldn't have any serious consequences and would most likely pass in a few months. Of all the girls Anakin could have been smitten with... the boy never did anything by halves. 

His forehead hurt.

“And you, Master Kenobi.”

Broken from his thoughts, Obi-wan bowed his head. “We owe you our thanks, your majesty. I am not certain we would have escaped the Republic’s droids without your help.”

He remembered it so clearly--standing in the throne room, watching the hologram of Senator Palpatine informed the queen and her court of the Jedi’s treachery. Informed them of the squad of droids on their way to apprehend Obi-Wan and his padawan of a few days. The second after the transmission ended had been the longest of his life. And she had let them go. Enough of a head start to borrow a ship and break the atmosphere. 

He was glad to have her on their side. 

As the party finished and Jenza bade the last of the guests goodbye, Anakin followed Amidala around until she departed. Then he laid Avee on the floor to assess the damage, and Obi-Wan crouched beside him to hold screws in his flat palm. A security officer relayed that all systems were back online. The bounty hunters sat in the brig, their ship was requisitioned for investigation. 

The commlink he’d stolen from the Twi’Lek was burning a hole in his pocket. He needed to get into it as soon as possible. 

Then Dooku rejoined them. He had a bacta patch over one shoulder, and the cut in his tunic hadn’t been entirely stitched back up. Obi-Wan raised a hand--the one not holding Avee's screws--in greeting. “Glad to see you walking about, master.”

“Hmm. ”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “It was a busy night.”

Dooku nodded and turned his stern gaze on Anakin, who looked up from where he sat cross-legged on the floor. “Skywalker."

The boy looked up, and his gaze flicked to the count's shoulder. “Hi, Master Dooku. Sorry you got shot.”

“As am I. I see you are recovering well from your misadventure.” 

Anakin bristled under what he likely heard as a rebuke, so Obi-Wan stepped forward. “Anakin acquitted himself well given his lack of experience.” 

“I did not mean it as a censure. It’s a terrible trial for one so young, so it is good to see that you were not harmed.”

“Oh.” A flicker of confusion crossed Anakin’s face, then he brightened. “Yeah. Aurra was pretty mean.”

“Aurra Sing was a dangerous mercenary. She won’t be troubling us again.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “What do you mean?”

“She attempted to finish the job while I was in the med center. She’s dead.” 

Obi-Wan clenched his mouth shut to prevent it from falling open. He didn’t doubt that Dooku was capable of killing a bounty hunter--Obi-Wan had plenty of opportunities to do the same that evening--but the flatness of the statement caught him off guard. He narrowed his eyes. “Do you know something?”

“Nothing I will speak here,” Dooku responded in an even tone, but the air of victory--and the familiar Force-stain of a recent kill--hung over him. He’d found something, something important. But the count turned on his heel and gestured for both Jedi to follow him. “We will speak later, but for now, I think it's time we returned home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got really long, but I wanted to wrap up this mini-arc. Serenno has some ghosts waiting to come out of the woodwork, and Depa is ready to come back on stage, so I'm excited for the next chapter!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading and commenting and leaving kudos!! I appreciate you all.


	9. The Lead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sith are persistent, but so are the Jedi. Now it's just a matter of who finds who first.

In hindsight. Obi-Wan had expected this to go a little more smoothly. He stood over the charred remains of the IG droid, a million blackened pieces scattered across the square each curling delicate smoke to the sickly yellow Nal Hutta skies. A few of the locals stood watching from the front of a bar, the vaguest interest on their faces. 

He shot them a glare and shrugged. “Owed me money.” 

The locals turned back to their dice games and drinks. Obi-Wan stuffed the stun blaster back into his belt and toed the remains of the droid. Three shots to the torso weren’t enough to bring down the assassin droid, but four was enough to trigger its self-destruct sequence. 

Marvelous. 

Before her death, Aurra confessed to Dooku that she and her crew had been hired by a shell contact--someone whose clients preferred a lack of Guild oversight. Then she’d dove for her blaster, only for the count to push her into some medical equipment that shorted and sparked. Cause of death: electrocution. 

Crouching, Obi-wan picked through the machinery until he found the remnants of a memory bank. If there was any data left on it at all, maybe Anakin could retrieve it. If not… then he was back to where he’d started, a week and a lead lost. No closer to finding who had tried to kill Dooku. 

Frustration bubbled in his chest, but such feelings were not helpful. Giving into it would only slow him down and muddy his judgment. So Obi-Wan pocketed the twisted bits of metal and his frustration for later and stalked back to his ship. 

The Ginivex-class starfighter was sitting where he’d left it. Only now with a couple of Weequay rough-and-tumbles standing a little too close as they inspected the collapsed fan blade behind the cockpit. 

_They had stood in the hangar looking over the new ship. Obi-Wan crossed his arms and frowned. The Order had never owned ships. A few convoys for emergencies, a freighter for deliveries. But Obi-Wan had spent his whole life hitching rides from place to place until the Force carried him to where he was needed. He looked the grey and red ship over again. “This feels excessive.”_

_“Nonsense." Dooku sniffed almost with impatience. "You can’t very well take the sun sailer every time you need to leave the castle grounds.”_

_“Well._ The Revenant _is a little on the nose.”_

 _“And I suppose_ The Ruin _would have been preferable?”_

One of the Weequays noticed Obi-Wan approaching and jerked his head towards the fan blade. “Nice ship. You a bettin’ man?”

He didn’t have time for this, but he had even less time for a scene. While the cut on his head had mostly closed, his ribs still ached when he moved too fast. Obi-Wan waved his hand and pressed on the stranger’s mind with the Force. “You don’t want trouble. You want to go to the bar and buy your friend here a drink.”

The Weequay’s face relaxed. “I want to buy Grann a drink.”

Obi-Wan waved them off and entered his ship, depositing the broken memory core in a storage compartment. The comm unit blinked. A missed call. He fired up the ship and turned on the comm as he lifted off. 

The call cycled then gave a low ding as the castle relay rerouted the signal.

A moment later Jenza's blue form flickered above. “Obi-Wan.”

“Jenza. Is everything all right?”

She waved a hand. “No, no. Everything’s fine. I wanted to let you know we’re on Raxus. and that you should join us when you can.”

“Raxus? And who is we?” He could already tell he wasn’t going to like whatever reason his padawan had moved planets in his absence. 

She shook her head and raised a hand in surprise. “Have you not seen the ‘Net?”

Obi-Wan laughed dryly to disguise his ignorance “No. I’ve been a bit busy.”

Jenza informed him that hundreds of planets had formally seceded from the Republic over the last few days. Naboo, Geonosis, Scipio, Onderon, Kashyykk, Sallust. More than she could name. Alderaan and Mon Calamari had not been among them. To help formalize the new government, Raxus Prime had volunteered to host a summit. They needed a strong front to negotiate with the Republic and soon. 

“And you and Anakin are--”

She pursed her lips in annoyance. “You do know part of my job for the past twenty years has been drafting legislation for the Assembly, don’t you?”

Obi-Wan winced internally. “My apologies, my lady.”

“Forgiven. But don’t worry. I thought it was better to keep Anakin where I could keep an eye on him instead of that big empty house by himself. He's here and staying out of trouble.” A small smile played at her lips but it died a moment later. “For the most part. He’s been having nightmares. You should join us when you can.”

He crossed his arms and fell silent. If Anakin was having nightmares again, that might mean their little respite was over. He needed to find the Sith and find them fast. He still had the commlink he’d relieved the Twi’Lek aide of. Perhaps between it and the IG’s memory core, an answer would present itself. “I’m on my way.”

“I’m sending you our coordinates and some clearance codes. Be safe.”

As soon as the coordinates came through, Obi-Wan adjusted course for Raxus and jumped to lightspeed. Then he sat cross-legged at the back of the cockpit and sank deep into meditation. Perhaps he could find some certainty in the Force. Or if not certainty, at least clarity.

But he found neither. There was only the endless, shimmering lattice of the Force and a dark haze hovering over the curvature of existence, rolling ever closer like a storm about to break.

***

The sun was setting over Raxus when Obi-Wan arrived, half-eclipsed by the green-blue planet. He had never been to the Raxus system, but on the planet prime, cityscapes webbed across its surface like strung lights. It was civilized at least. He guided _The Revenant_ down through the atmosphere and the obligatory checkpoints before he landed outside the stately parliament building. Whatever the building had been before Raxus offered it up, it now swarmed with diplomats and guards and droids running every which way. The lifeblood of the days-old Confederation of Independent Systems.

He made his way through the halls to the office number Jenza had supplied. Inside, he found Anakin perched on the giant desk, legs crossed, levitating a golden ball around the room. Beside him floated Avee, fully repaired and coated in a meticulous white and red paint job.

Anakin looked up and flung the ball aside, leaping off the desk. “Hi, Obi-Wan! When did you get here?”

"Just now.” He shot a cursory look around the sparse office. Save for a few plants, stacks of flimsi and datapads, and dark furniture, the office seemed empty and unmonitored. Satisfied, he turned his attention back to Anakin. “How long have you been here?”

“Pretty much since you left. Everybody’s been real busy, but I fixed Avee!” He pointed, and the droid trilled and spun to show off her new paint. “I'm almost done hacking that commlink you left with me. Passcode wasn’t too bad once I opened it up, so now I just have to decrypt the call logs.”

“Well done.”

Anakin beamed. 

“I see you’ve been keeping up with your training?” He glanced at the golden metal ball that had rolled to a stop under the settee.

The boy’s smile faded to a scowl. “Dooku’s been teaching me when he’s not working. He’s a lot meaner than you are. I’m never good enough for him.”

Obi-Wan winced internally but kept his face stoic. He should have expected this. “Anakin…”

“We’ve been playing stupid creche games because I’m ‘lacking fundamental basics’ or something. But it's not my fault I didn't grow up in the Temple.” Anakin crossed his arms, and something defiant curled in him like a pot about to boil over. Obi-Wan himself had run up against Anakin’s glaring lack of Temple training before, but in the headlong rush for survival, it hadn’t seemed to matter. Anakin was a fast learner, even if he could be resistant to the lesson. 

If he was this resistant to Dooku, Obi-Wan dreaded to think how his padawan might have reacted to the Council. “The count can be exacting, but he was once an instructor in the Temple. You should feel fortunate to have such a proficient teacher.”

“Yeah, well,” Anakin screwed up his face, and the roiling in him abated. “He’s still mean. You get the guy who hired that sleemo assassin?”

Obi-Wan made a note to reopen the boy’s discontent with his training another time, but he allowed Anakin to change the subject. “In a manner of speaking.” He pulled the remains of the memory core from his pocket and handed it over. 

Anakin looked at the charred metal in his hands and made a face. “Yikes. Did you blow it up?”

“Not intentionally.”

“That’s okay.” Anakin held it up to the light and turned the metal, soot coating his fingers. “I think I can get some data off it with Avee’s help.”

“Thank you. Anakin. Is there anything else you wanted to tell me?”

Confusion flickered across the boy’s face then embarrassment. “Did Jenza tell you? I already said I was sorry about the book thing--”

Obi-Wan held up a hand. The past few months had taught him that he needed to prioritize his battles, and whatever the "book thing" as supposed to be, it would have to wait until later. “She mentioned that you weren’t sleeping well. If the dreams have returned--”

Without Obi-Wan reinforcing Anakin’s shields, compensating for the padawan’s inexperience, there was no telling what might have broken through.

Anakin looked relieved that Jenza hadn't told on him. He slipped the memory core into his pocket. “Kind of. They’re bad but not… they’re different.”

“Have you been meditating like we practiced?” Obi-Wan took a seat on the settee and focused on his padawan’s bright presence. A familiar need to squint came over him then passed.

“Yeah.”

Obi-Wan reached across the thread connecting master and padawan and found shields as strong as the day he had left for Nal Hutta. Stronger. 

"You have been practicing."

"I said I was."

"Good."

A moment later he spied more masterful reinforcements--Dooku’s influence like elegant durasteel beams superimposed onto Anakin’s novice shields. Not integrated like a true master-padawan bond but present. It seemed something productive had come of their squabbling.

“Will you show me your dream?” 

Anakin hesitated then dropped onto the end table and crossed his legs with a decided lack of decorum. Out of his pocket, he pulled the meditation cube and fiddled with it as he tried to focus. Obi-Wan allowed the boy to see his own memories of the past few days. The long stakeout for the IG unit. The brief rush and disappointment of the conflict. The comfort of returning to find his people safe. His concern for his padawan's dreams. 

Anakin lowered his shields, allowing Obi-Wan into his surface thoughts and feelings. 

Boredom with the diplomats. Joy from Avee and dinners with Padme and Jenza. Frustration with Dooku’s demanding teaching style. An emotionally charged memory of shouting, throwing a holobook, stomping out of the room to hide under Jenza’s desk. 

"Anakin..."

Anakin shuffled the memory away with a sting of shame, and Obi-Wan let him, crushing any judgment behind his own shields to spare his padawan more embarrassment.

And there was anxiety. A memory of fear in the dark. Traces of the Dark Side, clinging to Anakin like leeches, worming into his dreams.

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw then forced himself to exhale and send Anakin a reassuring tug on their bond. After a moment, the padawan brought up the memory of his dream. 

It was hazy as dreams were wont to be, filtered through the frosted pane of a child’s memory. But the fear had been real, and the memory of it was sharp as broken glass. 

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, and Anakin mimicked him. They repeated the action a few more times, and together they let the memory wash over them. 

_They stood in the woods, amorphous shadows hunched around them. Anakin shivered against the cold and wrapped his arms around himself. Everything was dark but the golden moon hanging too close overhead. Every crater was an eye leering down at the forest, searching, searching, not finding. As one, Anakin and Obi-Wan backed instinctively into the shadows, and the moon’s dreadful gaze slipped over the forest to a tall cliff shrouded in mist._

_Atop the cliff sat a black monolith, shifting between a tower and a castle. The castle on Serenno. A tower with a broad base that tapered to a searchlight point._

Master and padawan started from their meditation as one. Anakin dragged a deep breath and shut his eyes, and Obi-Wan steadied himself and extended a hand towards the boy. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” Anakin nodded, and the Dark Side had dissipated from him. “I think so. Did it see us?”

“No.” Obi-Wan crossed his arms and got to his feet. “I think it was looking for someone else this time.”

He had an idea of who those terrible eyes had been seeking. But if Anakin was still hidden, that might mean the Sith were aware of the Jedi seeking to destroy them. Where had he slipped? What had tipped his hand?

Anakin heaved a deep sigh, one that seemed too large to have left such a small frame. “We’re in trouble again, huh?”

Turning back to him, Obi-Wan offered a smile. “Not yet. But we will remain vigilant.”

He noticed Dooku’s steely presence a half moment before the office door chimed and the count swept into the room. Anakin sprang off the table like he'd been burned, hands behind his back like a respectful padawan. Surprise flickered through the Force before Dooku's collected facade slipped back into place. “Kenobi. You’re back sooner than expected.”

The count carried his shoulder a little stiffly, but however bad his injury was, he seemed determine to not be inhibited by it.

Obi-Wan put his hands behind his back in an at-ease pose. “Yes. I tracked the signal from the bounty hunters’ ship back to Nal Hutta and found the IG unit who gave them the job. Unfortunately, it self-destructed before I could extract any information about the original client. We may be able to gather some data off its memory core, but I have little hope it will be useful.”

Dooku’s face flickered, and Obi-Wan felt a sting of the demanding nature he'd felt during dueling practice and what Anakin had likely been bristling against. Dooku waved a hand. “Disappointing. Then you shall have to find another tact.”

Anakin inhaled sharply, but Obi-Wan gave him a quick shake of his head. This wasn’t the time to argue. “I’ve been considering that. Is it possible the Sith know we’re looking for them?

Dooku’s eyes narrowed, and his shields tightened almost imperceptibly, though it wasn't clear if he meant to guard against the Sith or his apprentice. “And what makes you say that?”

Obi-Wan frowned at Dooku’s sudden evasiveness. He was as poised as usual, but the slightest shifting in the Force said he was withholding something. Maybe it hadn't been Obi-Wan that had tipped their hand.

_“There are some stories we do not tell our children.”_

What in blazes had his grandmaster been doing?

Obi-Wan glanced at Anakin, then to Dooku. “It would explain your assassin. If the Sith are controlling the Republic, then whether the order came from the Chancellor’s office or from some Sith temple, there is functionally no difference.”

Dooku stroked his beard, and he frowned at the floor as if lost in thought. Then he said, “Losing one of their number in their first encounter with the Jedi in a thousand years? It might be enough to make the survivor defensive. Lashing out at any remaining threats.”

“Like the Order.” Obi-Wan felt Anakin shiver next to him. He didn’t need to be here for this, so the Jedi gestured to his padawan. “You and Avee should find Jenza and tell her I’ve returned.”

He looked about to argue, but Obi-Wan nodded to the door with a raised eyebrow, and Anakin nodded. “Yes, Master.”

And the boy and his droid disappeared into the halls of the parliament building. Once the door hissed closed, Dooku gave Obi-Wan an exasperated look. “The boy is a terror.”

Obi-Wan hitched his shoulders. “As was I at his age.”

“He lacks discipline.” 

“He is eager to learn.”

“Hmm. When he wants to be. But the current state of my lineage is not our most pressing issue."

“Agreed, Master."

“The Sith have evaded us for hundreds of years. They will not be easily flushed into the open.”

"I have a few more leads here, but they will take time to crack. In the meantime, I was hoping to follow-up with Captain Ji's team, see if they've gotten anything else out of the bounty hunters or their ship."

"I sense the bounty hunters will yield little more information than they have already." Dooku waved a hand, drawing the desk chair out, and took a seat. "They're pawns, nothing more. You must return to the scene of the crime."

The hangar where they had held the party had been converted back to a ship bay. Any evidence there would be long gone. Then Obi-Wan realized what Dooku meant. 

“Naboo.”

That was the last place he wanted to go. Too many memories. Too much pain. 

"Be mindful of your feelings, Obi-Wan. They will betray you."

Obi-Wan raised his shields ever so slightly. "Yes, Master." 

Dooku nodded in approval and laced his fingers together, elbows rested on the dark wood desk, careful not to lean too hard on his injured shoulder. “The Naboo queen is currently here helping helm our new government. She may grant you access to what you need.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “Amidala is here? Isn’t this all a senator's work.”

“Yes, but hers has apparently been difficult of late.”

“Senator Palpatine?” He had only met the man in passing a few times, and the senator had taken an unwarranted interest in Anakin. But Obi-Wan supposed protectiveness and worry were retroactively coloring his perception. Still. A politician was a politician, and now it seemed he was a traitor to the Naboo.

“He has denounced Naboo’s secession and made his way into the Chancellor’s personal counsel. Amidala was furious.”

Obi-Wan could imagine. He'd hate to be on the receiving end of her ire. “I don’t think Theed will have the answers we need. I have to look further.” He turned and began to pace slowly, allowing his thoughts and memories to spread before him like a youngling’s logic game. “The Sith was hunting Amidala, which means he was working with the Trade Federation. But Gunray is on trial in the courts.”

“Republic courts.” Dooku made a derisive noise in his throat. “He won’t see justice, not if they prosecute him for a decade, not as long as he has wealth and the Judiciary has pockets in their robes."

"He must have records somewhere, some way of tracking his business with the Sith. In case he needed to blackmail his partner. Or prove his innocence in the courts."

"A reasonable assumption. The Viceroy has proven himself capable of anything that will profit him, no matter how underhanded.” Dooku's lips curled back from his teeth in disgust. “And the Sith will be very profitable.” 

Obi-Wan sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Then it seems I'm off again. I have a few things to tie up here before I leave for Cato Neimoidia. If you can spare me.”

“I can. Jenza and I will be mired in this secession business for the foreseeable future. But it would behoove us to keep your mission quiet for now.” He raised an eyebrow and remarked dryly. “If Amidala finds out we have any dealings with the Trade Federation, it may be both our heads, and I should prefer to remain attached to mine.”

Obi-Wan smirked, but it faded quickly. "Master, is there something you want to tell me?"

Not the barest reaction slipping through, Dooku leaned back in his chair. "I have a lot of business now that you aren't necessarily privy too, but do not mistake my silence for secrecy. If there is something I want to tell you, Obi-Wan, rest assured I will do so."

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan bowed. A few weeks ago he might have believed Dooku. Now he wasn't so sure. He turned on his heel and left the office, the sting of disloyalty sharp on his heels. But if it was Dooku's or his own he sensed, he had no way to know.

***

The hills of Lothal rolled to the horizon in a soft sea of grass that rippled and bowed in the wind. Depa stood at the edge of the settlement that housed the surviving order. The stone and earth domes blended with their surroundings, hiding the remaining Jedi from any eye that might spy them.

All their injured had survived the arduous trek through the bowels of the Temple to this new place. Once the last of them stabilized, Bant had crawled into a corner and slept for a whole rotation. They would have to knight her at this rate, for the fortitude she'd shown in the Temple. 

Depa held her wrist behind her back and sighed. She'd have to knight all the surviving padawans by that measure. There were few trials she could devise that would surpass what they had already endured. 

She looked east towards the mountains, where Masona and one of the Sentinels had walked to the nearest city. Three days’ round trip on foot. There they had gathered supplies--food, medicine, clothes, and, most important of all, news. The Senate wielded an army now. It had moved aggressively, replacing decades of lethargy with droid regiments bordering on occupation. No more would pirates and crime syndicates harry the Republic, vowed Valorum. No more would the peace of the galaxy be left to a dying, treacherous Order. And the galaxy had answered by fissuring in two. 

It had been another man speaking on that holorecording. She had only met Valorum in passing, but whatever madness had seized him, it had sunk its claws deep. Soon it would be the Outer Rim versus the Core--droid army against droid army-- waiting for the other to flinch. In another life, the Jedi would have been on the front lines of the negotiation, scrambling to hold the Republic together by diplomacy and force of will alone. Another life indeed. 

Depa closed her eyes and took a long inhale of the warm grass. It was spring in this hemisphere, which gave them time to plan for winter. Where the seasons harsh here? Or were they all as mild as these past few days had been?

Though Mace was silent as he approached, his familiar presence anchored her swirling thoughts. He came to stand beside her, and the two of them stood watching the grass undulate and unfurl. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the white linen bandage wrapped around his eye. His face was more lined, though his posture was rigid as ever. Not all the scars of Coruscant were physical, but the tangible ones they did have were almost to excess.

If he was bothered by his new range of vision, he didn’t let it show. Instead, he said, “You’ve been quiet, Depa.”

She hummed a note of agreement. “Thinking.”

He was silent, waiting for her to clarify once her thoughts settled. Finally, she replied. “The galaxy is changing. Faster than the Jedi can change with it.”

He nodded.

“We are protected here. We can stay hidden. Survive. But that will not sustain us. If we are to rebuild...”

“You’ve been talking to Jocasta.”

The archivist had locked herself away with her backup of the archives, pouring over it for Force only knew what. 

Depa sighed and smiled. "Maybe I enjoy her company." Smile fading, she rubbed her temple. “There are Force-sensitive children that need us. We cannot allow them to fall into the Republic's hands. But until we know that we can keep them safe, I cannot justify bringing them here.”

They had lost so many already.

“There is no certainty, Depa. If that is what we are waiting for, then we will be waiting forever.”

“I know. But the Force is hazy. Shrouded. There are things in motion that we cannot ignore, but we must have steady footing before we take the leap.” Anything less left them exposed like a nerve, and she felt the pain of the survivors too keenly to risk their being struck again. They had already survived too much.

Mace shook his head. “Someone will have to go plead our case."

"It should be you, Mace. You're the most senior Council member here."

"I will not leave our people unprotected. Not again.”

She just nodded. As long as Mace lived, the Jedi would have no fiercer protector. “We will need to consider reforming the Council. We cannot carry the entire Order on our shoulders--” She smiled. “--though I know you will try.” 

He snorted, the closest to a smile she’d seen since the Force brought them to Lothal. Then he grew solemn again. “When will you leave?”

She looked back out over the sea of grass and to the sun drifting towards the horizon. “Soon. There is much to be done.”

***

"I never get to go with." Anakin's tone was dangerously close to a whine, and Obi-Wan turned back from the ship to give him a long, hard look. Anakin crossed his arms. "I don't."

Obi-Wan was always going someplace dangerous and leaving Anakin behind. The run-in with the bounty hunters had been scary, but Anakin didn't want to be left behind. He wanted to help, to be a real Jedi.

Obi-Wan smiled with his annoying infinite patience. "You will one day. But for now, you have another job, as I have mine."

Anakin sighed. "Playing with droids. I want to fight bad guys." Avee gave an offended beep, and he shot her an apologetic grimace. "Sorry, Avee. But when do I get a lightsaber?"

"Once it's safe enough to go to Illum. If Serenno can wrangle these politicians into negotiating with the Republic, then perhaps sooner than later."

Anakin didn't understand why anybody would want to work with the Republic. It had never done anything for him or anybody he cared about. But Jedi didn't think like that. A Jedi always looked for the diplomatic solution first, not the blow-it-up solution. Even when the blow-it-up solution was faster. 

"If you get any data off the commlink or the memory core--"

"I'll call you."

"And if you have any more dreams..."

"I'll call you, Master." He got quiet for a second then pointed for Avee to follow the Jedi. "Avee should go with you. In case you need to splice something."

Surprise rippled off Obi-Wan. "Are you sure? She's your droid."

"I'm sure. I can get the comm hacked by myself, and you need somebody to watch your back."

"I don't need--"

"Jenza thinks you do too."

Obi-Wan didn't look amused. "Jenza is not a Jedi."

No. But she noticed things. 

Avee drifted to hover near the Jedi's shoulder, and Obi-Wan nodded. "All right, thank you, Anakin. We'll be back in a few days. May the Force be with you."

"May the Force be with you, Master."

Obi-Wan boarded his ship, and when _The Revenant_ had disappeared from sight, Anakin went back to his room and the mess of parts on his work table. He had a couple of hours before anybody would be done diplomacy-ing for the day, and he wanted to solve the comm mystery before Obi-Wan came back.

Besides the busted-up memory core, there lay all kinds of tools. The commlink sat in a nest of wires trying it to a datapad running standard decryption software. The comm Obi-Wan had “borrowed” from the Twi’Lek’s pocket might have something important on it. Obi-Wan was always using words like "borrowed" when "stole" was better. Mom had called it lying. Obi-Wan called it "nuance." 

He'd broken the password a couple of days ago once he opened the comm until up, but the call logs were encrypted. And if he wanted to know what a farmer was up to, he had to look in the barn.

Anakin fiddled with the memory core for a while before the call log was finally done decrypting. He pulled up the list of all the frequencies that had gone in or out since the unit was last wiped for routine maintenance. Anakin scrolled and frowned. A couple of them look familiar.

If the Twi’Lek was up to something, maybe Anakin could trace the source of a call and save Obi-Wan a trip. 

Anakin scrolled, but nothing jumped out at him. Whoever this comm belonged to made a lot of calls. A lot. Maybe he could figure out where they were all going if he found the relay station they'd been piped through. The relay would have better records on the calls.

It would have been faster with Avee, but Anakin fiddled with the datapad for a little bit until it spit out the station. Serenno. The castle.

Was it busted?

Anakin typed a couple of commands into the datapad, bypassing the relay's security. It was kind of slow to do remotely, but he still had the command codes from when he'd checked the security systems before the party. 

The comm's log compared to the relay history and spit out a list of all the call frequencies tagged with IDs for callers and callees. 

Jenza was always on one side.

Anakin frowned and smacked the datapad against the table. "Come on, don't be busted. Run it again."

The same answer. That was weird. Why would some random Twi'Lek have Jenza's commlink? Had he "borrowed" it too? Or maybe he'd just found it on the floor and hadn't given it back before Obi-Wan got it.

Anakin growled. So much for solving a cool mystery. 

Well, it was this or study. So he scrolled through the log. Most of the calls were to or from local nobles, messages to Carrania and Saffia, a few encrypted calls to galactic leaders who had joined the cause. But there was one unknown frequency that had appeared recently. It was encrypted and had calls going both ways, the first not long after he and Anakin had arrived at the castle. The last on the night of the party. 

The Force pinged. Not loud. Not bad. Just a nudge to pay attention. 

Should he take it back to her? Wait for Obi-Wan to get back? What would Obi-Wan do anyway?

Anakin dialed the unknown frequency. It cycled once. Twice. Then someone answered, no hologram to show their face, just a blue line modulating to a clipped accent. “Fett here.”

“Hi." He sounded like a little kid. Anakin coughed and tried to make his voice as deep as Dooku's but it came out scratchy. "This is... Kitser. I’m Lady Jenza’s new assistant."

A beat of silence. “Who is this?

“Uh, new assistant.” Anakin punched in the command to trace the call. Whoever this was, he wanted to know exactly where they were. “You called a couple of days ago. Did you want to leave a message?”

Another beat of silence. “I don’t discuss my business with non-clients. Tell her to call me back.”

Anakin smashed at the controls. “Wait--”

The call terminated. 

“Son of a sun-burnt Hutt!" He grabbed the readout. "Yes!" Part of the transmission had been traced. The Arkanis Sector. That was near Tatooine. The call hadn’t finished tracing entirely, so he couldn’t pin it to a specific planet. 

"Fett," Anakin repeated so he wouldn't forget. Who was Fett? And why was Jenza talking to him?

He didn't know. But he was going to find out before Obi-Wan got back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to everybody who called Dooku being shady from twenty thousand feet away. y’all know what’s up. 
> 
> The Revenant is a Ginivex-class starfighter, the same as Ventress' ship in ep. 3x12 of Clone Wars.
> 
> As a note, I did update the overall fic tags because there is indeed a happy ending coming! It might take us another 25 chapters and some angst to get there but these guys are going to be happy, I promise.


	10. The Trespass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin investigates, and Obi-Wan makes an important discovery.

Sneaking was harder than he thought it would be. Anakin stood in the hallway, measuring the distance from his place of cover to Jenza’s door. In the main living space, he could hear her and Dooku talking. There were ten feet with nothing to hide behind. Not far at all, and the longest space he’d ever had to cross. If they saw him, he’d be sent right back to bed with a lecture, and that would be the end of his investigation for the night. 

“--I know the Chancellor isn’t trustworthy, but you cannot be serious.” Jenza sounded somewhere between irritated and stunned. 

“Of course I’m serious. You are the one who suggested the Security Task Force on Naboo.”

“Yes, for our people to defend themselves. What you are talking about is tantamount to war--”

Anakin thought about what Dooku had told him during their dumb game of Seek. Stay very low and very still, and he could be part of the shadows. Not just what Obi-Wan had taught him about making people disinterred, but really and truly not being seen. He narrowed his eyes and thought about the shadows pulling themselves around him. About eyes looking at him and away. 

Now. Anakin ducked low and darted across the open space. When he reached the shadowed part of the hall, he stopped and waited for someone to call after him. 

Instead, he heard another clink of glass on the table and the count’s voice. “It is no more than the Republic has.”

“They will not see it that way.”

A sigh. “What would you have me do?”

“Negotiate!” Jenza half-shouted. “Good ancestors, Yan, in half a rotation, those systems out there are going to elect you head of this new state. Your first act cannot be to declare war on the Republic with armies we don’t have.”

“Have yet. The Geonosian foundries are already running, but we will have to pay dearly to match what the Republic can field...”

They were yelling, but nobody stopped to yell at him. Maybe Dooku’s sneaking lessons and dumb kid games had paid off, even if Anakin would rather die than admit it.

The boy crept the rest of the way to Jenza’s door, which hissed open. She kept a diary, a little dataslate with all her appointments and notes and things. If there was anything about Fett, it would be on there. 

The adults’ voices drifted through the door. He wasn’t sure how they expected him to be sleeping with them almost shouting like that. 

“--surely we must be able to leverage our trade and our hyperspace routes for some measure of cooperation.”

“There can be no cooperation with the corrupt.”

He rifled through the drawers, sliding aside anything that didn’t resemble the dataslate. Three drawers later, he got to a big pile of flimsi which he dumped onto the desk and started digging through. Elbows flying, he got through the whole stack. Nothing. 

He cursed under his breath. Maybe she’d left it in her closet. He stuffed all the flimsi back into the drawer and shut it; the force of the drawer closing knocked a lamp off the desk. 

“Oh no!” He grabbed. Missed.

It clattered to the ground with enough force to wake a drunk Hutt. Anakin clapped his hands over his ears and froze. 

A long beat of silence came from the hall. Anakin held his breath. 

“Come, Jenza, be reasonable.”

“Sometimes,” she snapped. “I feel like the only reasonable person in this family.” 

They hadn’t heard him. Anakin exhaled and put the lamp back on the desk. Maybe she’d left it on the nightstand. He made his way to the nightstand.

There. 

A thrill of victory running through him, he snatched it up and punched a fist in the air. The hard part was done. Now he'd search it for any mention of Fett, and he’d have solved a whole mystery by himself before Obi-Wan ever got home. He'd prove he could handle things after all.

Then there was a clink of a glass being set on the table. “I’m tired. Good night.”

“Jenza...”

“Good night, brother.”

Uh oh. 

He slid all the drawers shut and looked around for a hiding place. The apartment was fifty stories up. He’d only fall to his death going out the window, and he didn’t really want to get scraped off the ground. 

Jenza’s house flats clicked toward the bedroom. 

Uh, uh...

Nowhere to hide. Anakin dove under the bed. He was in so much trouble. 

***

Obi-Wan slid the grate aside and dropped to the ground. Avee drifted down after him, checking the hall both ways for patrols. Fortunately, Viceroy Gunray’s house seemed abandoned in lieu of its owner’s absence. The security system had been a small thing to bypass with the prowler droid’s help. The Jedi made a mental note to thank his padawan for sending her along. 

Avee docked with the nearest terminal and downloaded a schematic of the house. Then she led Obi-Wan through the halls toward some point of interest. 

The halls were many and lavish, almost embarrassingly so in their scale and decoration. They wound down into the hive-shaped mansion, past a kitchen and quarters for servants. They passed a couple of super battle droids on patrol, but Obi-Wan ducked out of sight and pulled Avee behind shelter just in time. 

After a few more stairs and close calls with the occasional patrol, the trespassers stopped in front of a blast-proofed door. The durasteel looked heavy enough to stop a droideka shot point-blank. 

Obi-Wan stroked his chin. “Whatever they’re expecting to get in, I certainly hope we’re gone before it gets here.”

Avee gave no indication she thought what he said was amusing. Obi-Wan crossed his arms, and she began slicing the entry controls. 

Breaking into the house of a disgraced Trade Federation official had been as easy as slipping past some droids standing guard outside. Which meant he was bound to run into trouble he hadn’t planned for.

Master Windu had once said that Jedi did not make plans, that the future would care for itself.

_"What if it doesn’t?"_ Obi-Wan had asked. His whole youngling clan had been plagued with nightmares terrible enough to require the Council member’s intervention. All these years later, he couldn’t remember what they had been dreaming about. Only the dread of waking in the middle of the night surrounded by his weeping friends. 

_"What if tomorrow brings something terrible, and we could have done something today to stop it? "_

_“Worry promises a shortcut to wisdom,” Master Windu has answered. “A way to control the future, but it cannot touch tomorrow any more than you can. It is fear. A waking dream that confuses and distorts your path.”_

_But—_

_“It is only in this moment that you can act. The now. Fear of tomorrow will not make you wiser or add a single moment to your life. Seek the will of the Force, youngling, and it will lead you where you are meant to be.”_

_Obi-Wan and his classmates had fallen silent then Bant raised her hand. "And if it leads us somewhere terrible? "_

_“Then fear will not make it any less so.”_

Obi-Wan frowned. Maybe if Qui-Gon has worried a little more, it might have added enough moments to his life that his padawan could have reached him. How many things might the Jedi have prevented if they had worried more.

Avee beeped, shaking him from his thoughts, and a pang of shame stung him. It was useless to criticize the dead. All the blame in the world would not bring them back.

Tthe heavy door hissed open. The two slipped inside, and the door shut fast, plunging them into an inky dimness. Inside the room were rows and rows of data cores, boxy terminals all pitch dark that looked like rows of monsters in the dark. 

Obi-Wan crossed to the nearest terminal and booted it up. “Let’s see what skeletons the Nemoidians are hiding in their closet.” 

Avee dropped to sit on his shoulder, and he tilted under the sudden weight. “Ah. Maybe warn me next time. Anakin will kill me if I bring you home with anything less than perfect paint.”

She beeped. 

Hands flying over the keys, Obi-Wan broke into the servers and scoured file after empty file. Every avenue he searched turned up nothing, not even a holo frequency or a shift schedule. He hit the side of the terminal. “Damn.”

Avee trilled in concern. 

“They’re wiped. The viceroy must have had them cleared after he was arrested.” 

Now what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t very well march into Gunray’s cell on Coruscant and threaten the Viceroy until he gave up the Sith Lord. 

Obi-wan ran a hand through his hair and thought. Wiping the servers seemed wise for a being who had illegally blockaded an entire planet. No holocalls, no records of fuel purchases, no droid deployment charts. No records to be used against Gunray in the Republic courts. Nevermind that Naboo was full of evidence—mountains of battle droids and defunct tanks, the countless Naboo and Gungans laid to rest. But Gunray was rich, and wealth could be as good as innocence. Or better. The Jedi scowled. 

Gunray was smart, but he was a coward too. He would hide evidence, destroy it even, but he wouldn’t give up potential blackmail material. Gunray might be afraid of the Sith—with good cause—but he’d do what it took to save his own skin. He would have a copy of his servers somewhere. 

Obi-Wan just had to find it. 

***

Anakin lay still for a long time, clutching the dataslate to his chest with his eyes closed. Scared to breathe. Scared to move. He didn’t know how long he laid there until Jenza’s snoring reached his ears. 

Finally. 

He rolled into his stomach and crawled out from under the bed, bumping the frame a little as he wriggled free. 

There. He was out. Now he had to make it back to his room without getting caught by either of the Dooku siblings. He hadn't won a game of Seek yet, so easier said than done.

He slid the dataslate down his shirt and crept toward the door. He was so close to solving this mystery, he could smell victory like a cup of that nasty tea Obi-Wan loved for some reason. 

A light clicked on. “Anakin?”

Oops. 

He froze. 

“Are you all right, dear?” 

He turned slowly on his heel, careful not to jostle the dataslate out of his tunic.

Jenza lay propped up on one elbow, her other hand on the lamp. She squinted against the light like she was still half asleep, and her grey hair was all askew. “Did you have another nightmare?”

“I… uh…” He needed a lie. He needed a good one. “I threw up.” 

That wasn’t a good lie at all. 

She sighed and sat up and pushed her hair back from her face. Then she waved him over, and he slunk to her side. 

“It’s all right, dear, these things happen.” Jenza put the back of her hand to his forehead and frowned. “You don’t feel feverish. Does your stomach hurt?” 

He shook his head no. 

“Maybe dinner disagreed with you. Do you need help cleaning it up?"

"Uh... no. I did that already."

"All right. Let’s… let’s get you some water and get you back to bed.” 

“Okay.” 

She walked him to the kitchenette and got him a glass of cold water, which he drank. His face felt hot from lying, and the dataslate in his shirt was clunky and felt like it was burning a hole in the fabric. Had she noticed he’d stolen it? 

But instead of yelling at him for stealing, Jenza ran a hand over his hair and fixed him with a worried look. “I’m not very good at this, I’m afraid.”

“That’s okay.” Anakin put the glass on the counter. “You’re getting better.” 

She smiled. "We've had some practice these last few weeks, haven't we?"

A lot. 

She wasn’t as good as Mom. Mom would have sat with him, humming and rubbing his back until he fell back asleep. Jenza just walked him back to bed. But she never complained about being woken up in the middle of the night when Obi-Wan was away and Anakin’s room was looming with shadows. And the water was nice. 

He felt bad about lying. He didn’t want to be standing here anymore, pretending to be sick. “I’m feeling better. I’m gonna go to bed.”

“Are you certain?” 

“Yeah.” 

“All right. Try to sleep if you can.”

“Okay.” He crept to his room, and Jenza watched him go until the door slid shut behind him. 

He sighed and slumped onto the floor. He’d been caught. But not really. 

Jenza couldn’t be bad. Right? Not when she’d bought him new tools and listened to his stories about Mom and got him water after his nightmares. 

Anakin pulled the dataslate out of his big shirt and stared down at the black screen. 

He turned the device on and began to scroll. 

***

This house was ludicrously large. Obi-Wan walked it floor by floor starting in the basement, walked with his eyes closed and senses outstretched. Avee rose on his shoulder and beeped a warning whenever the patrols passed by. They had walked half the manor that way so far and found half a dozen stashes the Republic’s investors had missed. The Nemoidian had some interesting fallbacks—rare metals, bonds in other guilds, spice. He pocketed it all. Months on the run with Anakin, hand to mouth, had taught him not to look a gift dewback in the mouth. If only because they bit. 

He sighed. Morning would upon them soon, and they would have to hide until nightfall to be sure they weren’t spotted by anyone from outside. 

Wasted time. 

Obi-Wan found himself at the bottom of the stairs. He put his foot on the bottom step. “Avee, how much of the house—“

She trilled a warning and leaned forward. A patrol. Obi-Wan opened his eyes and took the stairs three at a time. 

“How much longer do you think the house will be empty?” asked a nasally battle droid somewhere on the floor below. 

“Don’t look at me. They didn’t program me with legal protocols…”

Obi-Wan veered left toward a door the Force told him would be open. He hit the controls and ducked inside with Avee just as the battle droids rounded the corner. 

Some kind of art gallery. Paintings lined the walls and sculptures on pedestals dotted the floor. Full of twisting shadows and backlit snaps, the room was eerie in the dim light. 

And a nagging feeling in his stomach called him deeper into the space. His feet carried him to a painting of a bleak scene--a lonely woman staring at a city skyline as plumes of black smoke smeared the sunset. 

“Cheery.”

With a little help from the Force, he removed it from the wall and found a little door with a manual lock. Obi-Wan allowed himself a small smile and laid his palm over the lock. A chill like a breath of cold air crept up his arm, and his smile faded. The Dark Side. 

“Seems we’ve found what we’re looking for.”

Avee beeped softly. She would be no help with this kind of lock. 

“It’s all right.” He wrinkled his forehead in concentration. The tumblers in the lock slid back and forth and clicked into place, a puzzle solving itself, until, finally, the door to the safe popped open. Obi-Wan gritted his teeth, reached into the dark box, and pulled out some flimsi bonds in the Techno Union, a bit of twisted metal, and some transparent data disks. All riddled with the ghost of the Dark Side. It seems Gunray had kept evidence of the Sith after all. 

Obi-Wan held the metal up to the dim light filtering through the window and noticed faint traces of soil clinging to what might have been a boot buckle. He pocketed the metal for later then offered one of the data disks to Avee. “Can you show me what’s on it?”

She bobbed twice and reached an arm for the disk. 

***

A bounty hunter. Fett—Jango Fett—was a bounty hunter. 

Anakin’s mouth went dry as he stared at the message. It was a big one with the vague client end of a Guild contract. One big transaction a few weeks after he and Obi-Wan had gotten to Serenno. It was enough money to have fed him and Mom for months, and there was an even bigger payment promised “upon delivery.”

Delivery of what though?

Why was Jenza talking to a bounty hunter? 

Now he really did feel sick. Anakin fell back on the rug and stared up at the ceiling. 

It had been bounty hunters that tried to kill Dooku. Just because Anakin didn’t like the stuck-up, judgy old Jedi didn’t mean he wanted Dooku dead. The bounty hunters had tried to kidnap Anakin because he was a padawan. They could have gotten away with it if Obi-Wan hadn’t shown up. 

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Anakin looked down at the dataslate. 

Jenza wouldn’t have. She cared about him. 

Didn’t she? 

Anakin got to his feet and smeared at his eyes. He wasn’t going to cry. He had to talk to somebody. Not Obi-Wan. The Jedi was halfway across the galaxy doing something dangerous. Anakin had promised to call, and he would. Eventually. 

Taking a long breath in through his teeth, Anakin got to his feet and slid on his shoes. He needed to talk to Padme. 

Anakin scrambled to his feet, slipped on his shoes, and snuck from the apartment into the hall, to the turbo lift, and to the ground floor. Padme’s apartment building was a short walk away--most of the politicians had ended up letting apartments in the same neighborhood near the Parliament building. It made a late-night visit much easier, especially since it was cold and he’d forgotten a coat. Why was the whole galaxy so cold? He wrapped his arms around himself and walked faster. 

In the lobby to Padme’s building, he punched in the long code that let him ride the lift up to her floor. Rabe had slipped it to him during a long, boring debate, and he’d memorized it and eaten the flimsi to honor the secret. The lift slid to a stop, and a camera opened. It was quiet for a long time then a modulated voice asked, “Anakin?” 

“Hi.” He waved, still cold. “Can I come in?”

The camera closed, and the lift door slid open. One of the handmaids--not Padme--stood on the threshold with a worried look. “It’s late. Are you all right?”

He stepped into the dimmed apartment and looked around. One of the queen’s guards stood near the wall and gave Anakin a hard look, making sure he wasn’t a threat. But Anakin looked back to the handmaiden. It was hard to tell which girl it was in the dark even though he was trying. “Can I talk to Padme?”

“She’s sleeping--”

“Anakin?”

He spun toward the voice, and even in the dark, he knew the girl standing in the hallway was Padme. His friend. He bolted across the room and threw his arms around her waist, burying his face in her soft nightgown. She hugged him back, and he knew she was worried. Her worry felt like pins and needles on the back of his neck. Could she feel his fear even though she wasn't Force sensitive? 

Maybe he shouldn’t have come. But it was too late for that now. So he tugged his shields closer so she couldn’t feel his fear and hugged her tighter to make the worry stop. “I’m okay. I wanted to see you.”

The worry didn’t stop, but she hugged him back. “You’re upset.” 

“No.” He said it too fast, too loud, and the pins and needles got worse.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head. 

She sighed and patted his back. “Come on. It’s late. We can talk about it in the morning.”

“Okay.”

Padme and her handmaiden led him back to the bedroom where Eirte perched on the edge of the huge bed, wide awake with her long blonde hair down. Oh. So the girl at the door had been Rabe. 

The girls laid out some pillows and blankets on a sofa the crawled back into the huge bed they shared. As they grew quiet and still and asleep, Anakin curled up in the dark, clutching the dataslate to his chest. He turned it on then off before he could read anything. He didn’t want to read the message again. He didn’t want to know who Fett was or what he was delivering. 

He wanted Obi-Wan to say something wise, to fix things. He wanted his mom, to hold her. To say sorry for stealing things and lying.

Anakin laid the dataslate on the floor, pulled the blanket over his head, and squashed the fear down deep where it belonged. Maybe he would wake up to find it had all been a bad dream.

**** 

It was nearly dawn. 

Avee flashed blue-tinted images and text across the walls, flicking through years of files faster than Obi-Wan’s human eyes could properly process. It was starting to give him a headache, and they’d only started a short while ago. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “We need to narrow it down. Can you bring up everything from the month of the blockade?”

Avee complied, but there were still thousands of files. He sighed. “Can you copy this portion to your memory? Anakin did fix your memory, didn’t he?”

She nodded, a full-body motion for a droid shaped like a disk. 

“Do it, please. We need to be able to comb through these when we are less pressed for time.” She gave an affirmative drone and flicked off the projection. When she finished, he packed all the disks back into the safe, which he locked and hid under the painting of the woman and the burning city. 

Avee and Obi-Wan left the house much the way they came: with a few close calls and a short trip through a waste culvert. They picked their way along a cliffside until they were away from Gunray’s manor and back to the secluded cave where they’d left the ship. 

Obi-Wan punched in the coordinates for Raxus. Avee downloaded the copied files to the ship’s central computer for better processing. 

As the Jedi began searching the files--narrowing the window ever closer to the Battle of Naboo--he found dozens of recorded conversations. Gunray had tapped all his calls, regardless of who was on the other end. Paranoia, it seemed, would play in Obi-Wan’s favor. 

Most of the information was useless. Daily logs for the Trade Federation ship, fuel purchases, ship manifests--

Radiant VII. The cruiser that had brought Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan to the Trade Federation ship. The day the galaxy had started unspooling. He had sensed something then, thought it had been the Force warning the Jedi of Gunray’s treachery. Obi-Wan peered at the manifest. Maybe it had been a warning of another kind. 

“Avee, can you bring up all the communications from when this ship docked?”

Avee beeped from where she was still wired to the main computer. A moment later, the calls appeared on the comm unit, playing one after another at triple speed. 

A flicker of corrupted data broke the stream, and then it resumed. 

_Pay attention._

Obi-Wan flicked up a hand. 

The droid trilled and rewound it to that moment. A grey, corrupted hologram of an indistinct figure froze over the comm while stuttering audio played over.

“Game… failed, Lord… finished. We dare… Jedi.”

Obi-Wan leaned forward to inspect the hologram more closely. “I thought you said your memory was fixed, Avee."

She beeped indignantly. It seemed not to be a problem with Anakin’s repairs but with the file. Something had corrupted this specific string of binary, but her internal fans whirred and the hologram rewound and played again. 

“Game of… failed, Lord...kade is finished. We dare not… nst the Jedi.” 

Avee played it again, and with each replay, the figure became more defined. Humanoid. Cloaked. Hooded. The shadowed lower half of a human male’s face with an aging throat. His mouth curled in disgust, and Obi-Wan’s stomach curled at the face of evil. Master Windu had been right. There were some things no one could plan for.

The audio of a Trade Federation official played over the frozen visual. “This game of yours has failed, Lord Sidious. The blockade is finished. We dare not go against the Jedi.”

Avee repeated the tape. The image of the Sith Lord didn’t move, but the audio was forever seared into the Jedi’s memory. 

Darth Sidious.

Obi-Wan leaned forward and pulled the bit of metal and its traces of soil from his pocket. He set it on the console at the foot of the hologram then unclipped Qui-Gon's lightsaber from his belt and weighed the solid metal in his hands. He frowned. “I can’t say it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Darth, but I look forward to meeting you in person.”

***

Dooku stalked down the quiet halls of the parliament building. It was loud on Raxus. It was nothing compared to Coruscant and its teeming mass of souls, all clambering over each other. There was plenty of clambering here in the new home of the Independent Systems too, everyone jostling for certainty and security in a new galaxy that would offer neither. Raxus at least had a natural rhythm, when reasonable people were asleep at home. Yoda’s line, it seemed, had never had an excess of reason, a flaw that culminated in Anakin Skywalker.

The count had followed Anakin to Amidala’s apartment building. The padawan had hardly been subtle sneaking out of the apartment, even if he had tried to use his rudimentary training to hide himself. It might have worked against an opponent who hadn’t invented the technique. Either way, the boy had reached his destination unharried, and whatever had possessed him to venture out so late, he would be safe enough with Amidala until morning. The boy had potential, but he was incorrigible. As if the count didn’t have enough to do without playing bodyguard to the boy’s midnight excursion. But if anything happened to him, Dooku didn’t care to think how Kenobi would react. He couldn't afford to alienate the young Jedi now.

A moment later, Dooku reached his destination. He entered his office and crossed to the safe neatly hidden in an end table. He waved a hand, and the wood pattern on the table slid and rattled. The lock clicked open, swinging the tabletop open in two and revealing a shallow safe. With another wave of his hand, the count used the Force to draw a silver box and a pile of white cloth from the safe. Free of the Force-dampening wood, the box chilled the air. 

After setting the box on the desk, he methodically wrapped the white bandage around his right forearm and hand. The uninjured arm. That would make this less complicated. He checked the knot once, and the grey runes stitched almost into the weave shimmered in the low light. 

Then Dooku summoned the box. As he raised the lid, an audible sigh left the box. The Dark Side unfurled from the interior, reached for him, recoiled from the cloth on his arm as he knew it would. It was an old technique warding against the Dark Side, one nearly forgotten by the Jedi. Not foolproof, but useful in dealing with artifacts of such a malignant nature. 

He gestured with one finger, and the box lowered to the floor, and a polished black orb remained suspended. The artifact had a surface like a black opal, smooth and shot through with prismatic hue. It drew all the light and all the Light in the room into its hungry surface. It pulled at Dooku, called to him. It offered knowledge, wisdom for one strong enough to take it. A way to peer into the Dark, and--if he were strong enough--perhaps into the mind of the Sith themselves.

It was dangerous. 

But so was he. 

Dooku reached out a hand. The artifact drifted to him and settled in his palm, burning ever so slightly against his skin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gang is trespassing in almost every definition of the word. But hey, what's a some light theft/breaking and entering/miscalculation in the pursuit of the truth?
> 
> Some references: 
> 
> The painting Obi-Wan sees is some Episode III concept art of Padme watching the Jedi Temple burn. 
> 
> The arm wrapping ritual Dooku is using is from the audiobook Dooku: Jedi Lost, where he and a few other Jedi try to use it to ward against the Dark Side with varying success.


	11. The Future of the Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is looking to the future of the Order, but Dooku, Depa, and Sidious have very different ideas of what the Jedi must be to survive in this new galaxy...

The promenade was nearly empty in the pre-dawn light as Anakin made his way back to the Serenno apartment. As long as he made it back before either Jenza or Dooku were awake, he’d be fine. A little tired. He’d had the scary moon-with-eyes dream again, but he’d be okay. 

He rode the lift up to the apartment and was relieved to find it still dark. Quietly, he crept from the front door through the living space 

A light clicked on. 

Anakin froze. 

“Skywalker.”

Dooku. Anakin’s heart dropped into his stomach. Why did this keep happening to him? 

He pivoted to face the count, who sat in a high-backed chair, legs crossed, and a look of long-suffering exasperation on his face. It made him look a little like Obi-Wan after Anakin had leaped off something too tall and landed safely, and Anakin wasn’t sure he liked that at all. 

“Hi.”

Dooku picked a steaming mug off the armrest and raised one eyebrow. “Children need their rest. Where were you at this hour of the morning?”

“Uh… I went for a walk.” He had gone for a walk, two of them. Dooku couldn’t sense him lying if he was telling the truth. 

“In your sleep clothes.” 

Anakin looked down at his green pajamas. “Yeah.”

“I see.” Something about Dooku’s tone told Anakin he did not see at all, and that the padawan was about to get an earful. “And I don’t suppose you saw Queen Amidala on this pre-dawn stroll.” 

Anakin‘s face grew hot, and he clenched his fists. “You always pick on me.”

"You cannot expect to improve without correction."

"I know you don't like me."

Dooku lowered his mug before he could take a drink and narrowed his eyes. “Your attitude is unacceptable. If you have a grievance with my teaching methods, then you should present it instead of being petulant.” 

As if he’d listen if Anakin did complain. He’d probably wave his hand and chalk it up to the padawan not being Temple raised, the right way. Angry next words burst out before Anakin could stop them. “Your attitude is unacceptable. I just went for a walk.” 

The Force was a steely silver around Dooku like always, but Anakin didn’t need to sense the count’s anger when it was written all over his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. “Think very carefully about the next words out of your mouth, padawan.”

“Obi-Wan said I had to be nice to you, but you’re not even trying to be nice to me. It’s not fair!”

“Fair? Do not--”

The door to Jenza’s room slid open, and the count fell silent as his sister came out all fancy and ready for the day. Then she caught sight of them and heaved a heavy sigh. “Really, Yan. The sun’s not even up.” 

She normally didn’t interfere in Anakin’s training—not with Obi-Wan and not with Dooku—but she might still be mad about her fight with her brother from last night. She rubbed her temple and walked into the common space, flicking on the overhead lights and expelling the shadows from the room. “You’re both awake early.” 

Anakin hid the dataslate behind his back. “I—“

“Young Skywalker decided to start the day with a pre-dawn stroll down the promenade.” 

She glanced at the count with surprise then back to Anakin. “Alone? Anakin, you’re not even dressed. And we’ve talked about this wandering off.” She crossed the room and put a hand on his forehead. “You’re not feverish at least.”

“No, ma’am.” 

She brushed his hair back from his face and shook her head. “All right, Let’s find some breakfast. We’ll talk about your little excursion later.”

Dooku rose to his feet. “Jenza, we’re in the middle of a conversation.”

She gave him a look that said she didn’t think a conversation was what she’d walked in on, but she didn’t say anything. Anakin took two steps toward the dining table before the dataslate slipped from his hands and clattered across the floor. 

Oh no. 

“That’s mine!” He dove on it before Jenza could stoop to pick it up and clutched it to his chest. 

Dooku was standing over him now. Why did he have to be so tall? The count extended one hand in a demanding gesture, but Anakin held it tighter. He wasn’t ready for anybody to know about Fett. He had to tell Obi-Wan first. Obi-Wan would know what to do.

“Yan, of all the things we have to do today--” Jenza paused. “Anakin. Is that my dataslate?”

He was in trouble now. He twisted away from her. “No.”

“Have you graduated to stealing as well as lying?” Dooku repeated the demanding gesture with more insistence. 

“Anakin Skywalker.” Jenza’s use of his whole name filled the padawan with dread from his stomach to his toes. She looked disappointed, and that was almost worse than being ganged up on. “Did you take that?”

Anakin hung his head and put the dataslate begrudgingly into Dooku’s hand. “Yes.”

“I have important, confidential data on there; you cannot take it whenever it suits you.” Jenza sounded disappointed. “First my commlink goes missing, then my dataslate. Anakin, if you want to know something, you only to ask.”

“Is this why you went to see Amidala?” Dooku gestured with the dataslate. “Are you spying for her?”

“Yan, don’t be ridiculous.”

“No!” Anakin shouted. 

“Then why did you take it?” 

“It’s none of your business--”

“Your master left you in my care, which makes your delinquency very much my business. What were you doing with the datapad?”

“Because I had to know who Fett is,” Anakin shouted. 

The room went deadly still, and a weird feeling turned in his stomach that said he’d made a mistake. Dooku stared at him, rigid and furious, and Jenza sighed and covered her face with one hand. 

“Fett? The Mandalorian?” Dooku grabbed Anakin’s shoulder, and it hurt a little. The Force went cold. “Answer me, Skywalker.”

Anakin shrugged him off and crossed his arms. “I don’t know! He’s a bounty hunter.”

Something frightening crossed the count’s face, but instead of turning it on Anakin, he whirled on his sister. “Jenza. I trust there is an explanation for this.”

Surprised, she opened her eyes. “Brother—“

“Fett is a Mandalorian. He is incalculably dangerous.”

Jenza raised her chin. ”Of course he’s dangerous; he’s a bounty hunter. I wasn’t born yesterday."

"He has killed countless Jedi."

Jenza paled but didn't flinched. "Then it is our luck that as soon as he delivers on the contract, we need have no more contact with him.”

“What contract?”

“It is a personal matter--”

They were doing the almost-shouting again, and the Force twisted around them and twisted in Anakin’s chest. 

“You didn’t do it, did you?” Anakin blurted. “You didn’t hire them.” 

Startled from their shouting, Jenza and Dooku both looked at him with varying degrees of bewilderment. 

“Them?”

“On the ship.”

Bewilderment gave way to cold horror as Jenza stared at him, and that was almost worse than the shouting. “You think I hired those mercenaries at the party. That I—“

Jenza’s face hardened, and she put a hand over her heart, so Anakin took a breath to be mad back. He could do mad. He knew all about being mad. But then sadness flooded through her, and the force of it lanced his anger like a blister. “Anakin.” Her voice was low. “I would never put you in danger like that. Is that what you think of me?”

“No!” He wished she would be mad. 

She turned on her brother. “And you? You think I would order to have you killed?”

Dooku scowled. “Of course not. But there had better be a good explanation for this.”

She ran a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry, Anakin, I didn’t want to disappoint you. But it seems the Loth cat is out of the crate. I sent Jango to Tatooine to look for your mother.” 

The room went dead silent. Anakin stared at her, jaw slack. Dooku said something distant, but he couldn’t hear over the blood rushing in his ears. Anakin swallowed. “My mom?” 

Jenza nodded. Anakin felt a thrill rush through him. His mom! She was going to be safe and happy and with him. They were going to be together again. 

Jenza nodded to his room. “Get dressed. We have a busy day.”

“Yippee!” He sprinted to his room. Jenza wasn’t bad, his mom was coming soon. It was almost enough to make him fly. 

***

Jenza watched Anakin run back to his room. She hadn’t meant for him to find out like this--how in stars’ name had he found out about Fett?--but it was better to be honest with him now than never. Tatooine was a dangerous, terrible place, and Jenza was still half afraid that Fett wouldn’t be able to find Shmi. The boy’s disappointment would be unbearable. He was already disheartened from being left behind by Obi-Wan. No matter how many times she explained why the Jedi hadn’t taken him along, Anakin felt every separation so deeply. 

The boy was a lightning rod--trouble always found him wherever he went. He needed someone to guide him. Obi-Wan was doing his best, but he had so many other worries. Things that he felt he had to carry by himself. Stars, why were all these men so stubborn? She ran a hand over her cheek and shook her head. “We’re too old for this, Yan.” 

Her brother snorted. “I hardly think that’s the issue.”

“You’re too hard on him.”

“He’s stubborn, reckless, arrogant--”

“I thought we were talking about Anakin," she snapped.

He fixed her with a sharp glare. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means he reminds me of another young Jedi I used to know.” Eager to prove himself. Frustrated with his teachers. Gifted. Angry. 

Yan shut his mouth with a snap, and Jenza half regretted the barb. She wasn’t Force sensitive--she’d checked--but she didn’t need the Force to feel the irritation radiating off her brother. Taking the dataslate from his hand, she walked back to her room. “We have to be at parliament in an hour.” 

With all the arguments they had started and never finished in the last week, she had no interest in adding this to the list. But Yan did. He followed her as she returned to her rooms and stood in the door, watching her gather her things for the day. After a moment of tense silence, he crossed his arms. “You should have consulted me before you hired Jango Fett to go gallivanting across the galaxy for some… _woman_.” A dark look crossed his face, and his eyes unfocused as in remembering something. “Fett is dangerous.”

Jenza paused in packing her bag. That sounded personal. Regretful almost. It was so difficult to read his moods sometimes, and it reminded her that she and Yan were still very nearly strangers. But he came back to the moment and frowned. “Obi-Wan won’t thank you when his padawan develops yet another attachment.”

A redirect. She threw an irritated glance to him and a dataslate into her bag. “Oh no, don’t you drag Obi-Wan into this. He’ll be glad his padawan has one less thing to have nightmares about.” She shoved a scarf into the softsided bag and latched the top shut with more force than necessary. 

Yan sniffed. “You coddle the boy.” 

Not untrue. She didn’t know how to mother a traumatized boy, so she’d settled for being kind. Stars, she hoped Shmi wasn’t too angry with everything Jenza had let Anakin get away with. She winced at the memory of the late nights and the sweets and now pre-dawn walks alone that could not be good for a child. 

But Yan’s point was not entirely relevant. Jedi, she had learned, were very good at changing the subject. “He needs to know he has people on his side. I try not to interfere with his training, not to undermine you and Obi-Wan, but he misses his mother.”

“Every Jedi is a child their parents decided they could live without, and Skywalker is a Jedi. One of the _last_ Jedi. As much as it pains me to say it, he is the future of the Order. The sooner he learns that he is alone in this galaxy, the better.” 

Jenza’s mouth fell open then snapped shut. Every time they argued, she was realizing she didn’t know him at all. “But he’s not alone! He has us, he has Obi-Wan. Good ancestors, Yan, he is a child, practically family."

"That boy is not family." 

"But you would begrudge him his? I thought you of all people would understand how he feels.”

He fell silent, and for a moment she thought she had finally gotten the better of him. But he spoke again. “And what if Fett cannot find this woman? What if she’s dead?”

Another redirection. She put one fist on her hip. “You think I haven’t thought of that? That’s why I didn’t mention it in the first place, though stars only know how he figured it out.” Not even ten years old and too smart for his own good. She shook her head. “What is all of this negotiating and legislating for if we’re not going to help the people the Republic has neglected most?”

She crossed the room in two strides and tried to brush past him, but Dooku didn’t move from the door frame. Jenza tilted her chin to stare him in the eye. She was tall, especially with her heeled shoes, but somehow he still had a few inches on her. “If Shmi is lost, then Anakin and I will mourn her, and he will at least have the closure of knowing what became of her.” 

Yan’s face was impassive. “We do not have the luxury of sorrow.” 

So that’s what this was about. Jenza sighed. “Yan. I know you miss Qui-Gon. But you have to stop punishing Anakin for not being him.”

His eyes flashed, and he inhaled sharply. “That’s preposterous.” 

"So you say." With a sad shrug, Jenza brushed past him, and he let her by. Anakin was waiting in the common area as she entered, and he was bouncing in place with enough energy to power a small speeder. She offered her hand, but he darted to her side and threw his arms around her legs. “Are you mad at me?”

She ran a hand over his hair. “No, dear. I was a little hurt that you think I would put you in danger.”

He buried his face in her skirt and mumbled something about “stupid.”

A flash of anger flared in her and was gone the next moment. “Anakin, you are not stupid. You’ve… you have been through so much. It must be very difficult for you to feel that you can trust people. I should have known that keeping secrets from you would make you nervous. Can you forgive me?”

He nodded.

She detangled herself from his embrace and crouched, hand extended. “No more secrets. Agreed?”

“Okay.” He took it, and they shook once. Then he slapped his pocket and pulled out a commlink. “This is yours.”

She stared at the commlink she had lost at the party. If stealing was how Anakin planned to get attention from now on, she had gone very wrong indeed.

“Anakin…” She did her best to keep her voice even. “Where did you get that?”

He flushed. “Obi-Wan gave it to me.”

“Obi-Wan?”

“Yeah. He said he got it from some Twi’Lek politician at the party, and I busted through the passcode and looked through your calls before I realized it was yours. Sorry.” He hung his head and peered at her through his bangs. He needed another haircut. “Are you gonna tell Obi-Wan?”

The sun wasn’t even up and Jenza was getting a headache. The Ryloth delegation must have been hoping to get blackmail material for leverage in the new government. Had the loss of a commlink been the reason they stayed with the Republic?

She slid the device into her bag and gave him a reassuring smile. “No. No, I think we’ve resolved this. We are going to have to put your sneaking skills to better use, young man.”

He brightened. “Cool!”

Always looking for trouble. She tapped his nose and stood. “Then let’s be off. We cannot be late.”

They were at the door when Yan called after them. 

They were nearly to the door when Yan called after them. “Skywalker.”

Anakin flinched and looked back to the older man. 

“What are you?”

What in ancestors' name was that supposed to mean? Jenza went to answer, but Anakin grew serious and answered, “I’m a Jedi.” 

Something flickered across Yan’s face, not quite approval, not quite disappointment. “Then try to act like one today if you can help it."

Stunned, Jenza opened and shut her mouth. Then she caught Anakin’s hand and raised her chin. “I will see you in session, brother. Try not to be late.”

And without waiting for his retort, she and Anakin stepped through the door, leaving Yan in the twilight apartment alone. 

***

Anakin drifted through the daylight as a feather. He usually hated the long parliament meetings, listening to people talk on and on and on about things he didn’t understand or care about. But Jenza wasn’t mad at him anymore, and Fett was looking for his mom. Once Obi-Wan came back, they’d all be together. 

He had so many things to tell her. About Naboo. About his training. About all the cool places he’d seen and all the scrapes they’d gotten out of. 

Well. Maybe not those parts. But he’d show her Avee.

To put his sneaking skills to what Jenza called a more constructive use, he delivered messages to a bunch of politicians the lady was friends with. He even got one in Rabe’s pocket without her noticing. When he was done, he slipped back into his seat beside Jenza and she gave him a conspiratorial smile. Then the politicians had some kind of vote then a bunch of people stood up and applauded for Dooku, who was apparently the new Head of State for the Confederacy of Separatist Systems. Jenza and Padme stood and clapped, so Anakin did too, even if he noticed Jenza had a weird look on her face. Whatever the siblings were fighting about, he hoped they made up soon. It was making it weird to stand next to them, and he didn’t have anywhere else to be.

He sat through a bunch more voting and wished Avee was there. But after the voting and dismissal of the parliament, there was a party. A bunch of people shook Dooku’s hand and congratulated him, and Jenza drifted toward Padme and the handmaidens. Anakin was happy enough to follow. Once Mom was arrived, he’d never have to go to any of these dumb meetings again.

Rabe plucked a little sandwich off a passing waiter’s tray and offered it to him, and when he took it, it had a little white flimsi wrapped around the bread. A note. Anakin snapped his head up, and she winked before turning her attention back to the grown-up’s conversation. 

Anakin ate the sandwich then pretended to throw it away while slipping it up his sleeve. He was getting good at this. He’d have to show Obi-Wan and Avee when they came back. 

When the party was over hours and hours later, Anakin followed Dooku and Jenza home across the promenade with a trickle of other politicians heading home. Jenza and Dooku seemed to have made up. Or at least they weren’t arguing anymore. Anakin trotted along behind them and kept quiet.

“...work to be done.”

“More than enough,” Dooku agreed. “You will, of course, have to take over the majority of my duties on Serenno.”

Jenza laughed a little humorously. “What do you think I was doing while Ramil was off racing?”

Anakin picked at his fancy tunic. The air was sticky, which was stupid. If it was going to be hot, it should be dry too. 

The Force hummed a bright, sharp note like a plucked string on a zither, and it made Anakin’s skin goosebump. Somebody was watching them, somebody strong in the Force. He glanced at Dooku, who hadn’t seemed to notice. Anakin reached for the count’s sleeve. “Hey, did you…”

“Keep walking, Skywalker,” said Dooku. He didn’t look down at the padawan, but he’d taken Jenza’s hand and put it in the crook of his elbow.

She looked surprised. “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all.”

That was a lie. Anakin stole a glance at the presence and realized it had moved ahead of them. Walking toward them was a short woman in a ratty brown cloak, her hood drawn up over her face. Anakin swallowed. He wished he had a lightsaber. Did Dooku have his lightsaber? He didn't see it.

The count didn’t break stride. For once, Anakin was glad the old man was on his side.

Once they were a few meters away from each other, the woman slowed her pace and removed her hood. She was beautiful with long, looped braids and warm brown skin and a presence that sang. 

She stopped and bowed her head slightly. “Count.”

With a ripple of surprise in the Force, Dooku brought the little party to a stop and returned the bow with a neutral expression. “Master Billaba.”

She’d been on the Jedi council when Anakin was tested. When they’d told him no. Did Obi-Wan know she was alive? She looked more tired now. Older around her bright eyes that flicked to Anakin and flickered with surprise. She gave a small smile, and he returned it before she looked back to the count. “Congratulations on your election. I understand it was a fraught journey.”

“For both of us, it seems. I confess I am surprised to see you alive.”

Master Billaba smiled, and her presence hummed with sadness. “These are trying times we find ourselves in.”

“Indeed.” 

The two of them stared at each other for a long time, and Anakin was reminded of prizefighters on Tatooine sizing each other up before a match. Something almost electric quivered in the Force and made Anakin’s skin tingle, and he wasn't sure who he would put credits on. Then Dooku blinked first and gestured to Jenza. “This is my sister Jenza Dooku. Jenza, this is Master Depa Billaba of the Jedi Order.”

Jenza nodded, but Anakin could feel her curiosity burning. “Master Billaba. What brings you to Raxus?”

A light of resolve flashed in the Jedi’s eyes, and she lowered her chin. Anakin had seen lots of people ready to fight and fight tooth and nail. It was a look he'd seen on Obi-Wan's face a lot. Then Master Billaba spoke, and the Force stilled to listen. “I have come to negotiate the future of the Jedi Order.”

***

Even on a planet that never slept, the hour was late for a light to be on in the office of the Supreme Chancellor. It seemed that while the galaxy was restless, the head of the Republic was doomed to be as well. 

Slouched in his desk chair, Valorrum rested his face in his hand. Or rather, he let his arm support the full weight of his head--a posture he was talking more and more often these days. The holorecording of Count Dooku’s acceptance speech played on a loop. 

“...too long has the Republic neglected our voice. Left us to fend off pirates and the insatiable greed of the Hutts and corporations...”

For a man who had been shot mere weeks ago, Dooku seemed perfectly normal as he gestured and pontificated. A pity. Valorum didn’t know who had fired those bounty hunters to kill that traitor, but why the hell had they missed? It wouldn’t have solved everything, but it would have slowed the Separatists down enough that the Republic might have been able to reason with them. But now they were aligned, organized, voting in their own government! How many more systems would the Republic lose to the lure of that thrice-damned count and his witch of a sister?

Nothing grew on Serenno. Nothing but sacanium and sedition.

The hologram flickered and looped. “...Naboo--abandoned to the whims of the Trade Federation...”

Maybe the count had a point. Maybe Valorum and the Republic he represented shouldered blame in this as well. It had been his leadership that failed during the Naboo Crisis. That allowed Jedi to try to overthrow him in his own office. But he had acted! He had wrested control of the droid armies from the Trade Federation. He had ordered the traitorous Jedi destroyed.

What more did they want?

The chancellor felt ill. 

“You should not be so hard on yourself, your excellency. You are doing as much as can be expected in such difficult circumstances,” said Senator Palpatine from where he was seated across the desk. 

Valorum glanced at his friend through the hologram. He supposed Palpatine wasn’t a senator anymore. Not since Naboo had seceded, prompting Palpatine to renew his commitment to democracy and become Valorum’s advisor. His most trusted advisor. Since the rebellion of the Jedi, there seemed to be traitors creeping in every corridor. There were so few people he could trust…

“Are you reading my mind now, old friend?” he asked. 

Palpatine laughed and shook his head. He didn’t look as tired as Valorum felt. “No, your excellency. No, it does not take a Jedi’s perception to see your worry.” His face grew grave as he turned his attention on the hologram. “It’s shameful what he's doing to the galaxy.”

The hologram looped and glitched, and for a moment Valorum saw Dooku’s face superimposed over Palpatine’s. But then the projector whirred, and the recording played on. “It is time we turned instead to each other for our strength. May history remember...” 

Valorum groaned. “Damn history. My era was supposed to be one of peace. Of prosperity. Not war.”

“‘May you live in interesting times.’” Palpatine smiled. “An old Jedi imprecation, if memory serves me.”

“‘Interesting times.’ The Jedi certainly left enough curses in their wake. He’s probably mind tricking half of them.” Valorum sat up straight and flicked the hologram off. “What are we going to do about this?” 

“I would hardly presume--”

Valorum waved his hand to dispel his friend’s modesty. “What would you do? If our places were exchanged?”

At that, Palpatine steepled his fingers in front of his mouth and pondered for a moment. “Removing the count is the next logical step--cut the head off the snake, if you will--but an extreme one. Should diplomacy fail us.”

“Assassination?” That seemed out of character for the former senator, but desperate times, Valorum supposed. He’d entertained the idea himself. 

“Far be it from me to suggest something so crude, sir. I have heard rumor that the count travels with a Jedi traitor, one who escaped justice. That will make any attempts to move against the count directly futile.” A moment of thought. “Have you had a chance to consider my new proposal?”

“Project Reforge? It’s… an interesting proposal.” He winced as pressure began to build behind his eyes. His migraines were coming more and more frequently in the past few months, and the pain reducers his doctor had prescribed only did so much. He needed to sleep.

After a long breath to steady himself, he nodded. “All right. I will put whatever resources you require at your disposal. I place the future of the Jedi Order in your capable hands.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun duuuuu. Everyone who's guessed that Jango is here for the clone army is not necessarily wrong; we're just taking the long way round and picking up some more female characters on the way.
> 
> The quote "Every Jedi is a child his parents decided they could live without." is taken from Yoda: Dark Rendezvous. 
> 
> Dooku's "What are you?" question to Anakin is also adapted from Dark Rendezvous where Yoda asks, "What are we, think you?" which I headcanon that Dooku asked Rael and Qui-Gon and is trying to repeat here as a very clumsy attempt at connection. 
> 
> Project Reforge is a name I made up. Valorum is straight-up not having a good time, and what Sidious is cooking will make that Force-assisted migraine exponentially worse.


	12. The Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Obi-Wan makes some unnerving discoveries on Mustafar, Depa makes new friends and questions old ones.

Stopping on Onderon to refuel had been necessary. Getting the metal scrap analyzed at the university had been almost a whim, and Obi-Wan had needed to call on Dooku to call in a favor with the administration. The count had visited here during his whirlwind speaking tour, and according to the dean, any friend of the CIS’ new head of state was a friend of the university. Dooku, apparently, had been busy.

The astro-geological department was headed by a severe-looking woman. Doctor Antis, with more degrees than a graduating class and spectacles as thick as a ship’s viewport. Obi-Wan couldn’t tell if they were corrective or protective, but as they entered her lab, she didn’t offer him a pair.

“All right, what are we looking at?”

He produced a container that held the metal and soil, and she plucked it from his hand and turned to her tests. After a few hours, she slid back from her work station and gestured him over from the geological sample display he’d been perusing.

The doctor pointed to her yellow workstation screen, full of data points and lists. “Well, the metal is useless to you. It’s just standard durasteel manufactured on any hundreds of worlds. Looks like it came off a belt or a boot. But this—“ She picked up a long writing utensil and pointed to particles of soil that coated the metal. “This has trace amounts of basalt.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “Basalt?”

“Yes. Volcanic. Common enough but the amount of silica in the composition is matching a planet in our database.”

“Where?”

She tapped the screen, and the yellow-tinted image of a pockmarked planet appeared.

“Mustafar.”

***

Negotiating with the Separatist Council went surprisingly quick, though Depa attributed it to their having countless other decisions to make. So when Depa presented her demands--refugee status for any survivors, the outlawing of bounties, the end of midichlorian testing in Confederate space (though Dooku raised an eyebrow at that)--Queen Amidala took up the cause. 

Young Skywalker and Lady Dooku were absent, though that was likely for the best. The Council’s decision had not been made lightly, nor had their eventual relenting, but she was glad to see him still in Kenobi’s care. It wasn’t good for a Force sensitive to be alone in such a galaxy. Depa made a note to speak with Skywalker later. 

“We can begin making inquiries,” said Amidala, returning Depa to the present. There would be plenty of time for Skywalker later. The young queen glanced down the table at her companions. “There are plenty of places on Raxus for the Order to rebuild.”

“Indeed.” Dooku leaned back in his chair. After strong-arming Depa’s case onto the council’s agenda, he had relegated himself to the role of an impartial observer. They had crossed paths on occasion when Dooku and Mace served on the High Council together, though she had never exchanged more than a few words with the man. He’d been an iconoclast then too, endlessly questioning the decisions of the council he served on, watching the growing shadows of the Republic with wary eyes. And then he was gone, and she’d taken his seat among the masters. 

The count was a hard man to read. Well trained. Deeply guarded. 

He continued, “Raxus Prime has no wellsprings that I am aware of, but we should discuss designating a temple inside the capitol to provide—“

“No.”

In unison, the rulers swiveled their heads to the Jedi master. After a moment, the count broke the awkward silence. “Did I offer offense, Master Billaba?”

”No, count. We thank you for the protection from the Republic, but the Jedi will not be coming to Raxus.” She shook her head to clear the memory of the Temple’s empty, blaster-burn riddled halls. “The Council has decided—“ They had. She, Mace, Jocasta. What a council they made indeed, but it was what they had until other survivors could find them, and the Separatists didn’t need to know that. “The Council has decided that our new home must remain a secret. Even from our allies.”

It was necessary. 

“Really—“ The Mon Calamari senator made an offended noise. “How are we supposed to station protections if we don’t know where you are?”

Someone snorted, but the sound was gone the next instant. Depa glanced around the table of proven traitors. “We do not ask you to guard us, only to let us live in peace.”

“You demand protection and refuse it at the same time. I’d heard you Jedi were double-talkers--”

“We do not ask to be guarded,” Depa repeated firmly. “And any battle droids that come too close to our children might find themselves... dismantled.” 

The table fell silent again. 

The Mon Calamari narrowed her eyes. “You are in no position to be issuing threats, master Jedi.”

Depa kept her face neutral. The Force had warned her to be wary when she left Lothal. It hadn’t stopped since she stepped foot on Raxus. “Jedi do not threaten, madam. We inform. You should put your battle units to better use than guarding people who wish to heal in peace.”

“So the Jedi do not mean to serve this body as they did the Senate?” Amidala asked.

Depa nodded. She admired the young queen’s fortitude, to plunge back into the fray mere months after the Naboo crisis. But the Jedi were peacekeepers, not revolutionaries. They were not equipped for such a thing. “No, your majesty. We were peacekeepers, not politicians, and if this confederacy means to go to war with the Republic, I see very little place for us. The Force is leading us somewhere else.” Far. Far from Coruscant. And far from Raxus.

Then Poggle the Geonosian spoke in his native, clicking tongue, thumping his cane against the floor. 

“Well said, my friend.” Dooku gestured with one. “These are uncertain times. Perhaps in the future, once the surviving Jedi feel that they can trust us, we can reopen this discussion. For now, I move that this council presents the protection measures to parliament so all the systems know to let the Jedi move unhindered.”

With Amidala’s second and Poggle’s third, the motion carried, and a note was added to an assistant’s long list of to-dos.

The meeting soon shifted to other matters, and Depa excused herself. She did not dare call Mace to deliver the good news--there was still no way to know who among the Separatists could be trusted. 

Amidala, perhaps. Dooku. He was, after all, a former Jedi, Yoda’s best student. But the count still had the clear-sightedness only an iconoclast could muster, and he shielded like he was hiding something. But maybe that was her own paranoia creeping in. Obi-Wan trusted the man enough to leave a padawan in his care, and, more importantly, Mace believed in him. A lifetime as a Jedi was not something easily shrugged even by one of the Lost. 

But whether or not he could be relied on was moot at this point. Her people were as safe as they could be in a galaxy on the brink of war, and she would take what measure of peace she could get. 

Now, where had Skywalker gotten to?

***

Obi-Wan set _The Revenant_ down in Mustafar’s northern hemisphere. There were plenty of mining interests in this area. But where to start…

He exited the ship with Avee at his shoulder. She started scanning the surrounding area while Obi-Wan looked out over the hellish landscape. The crust of Mustafar was broken and pockmarked, rivers and pools of magma destroying and remaking the surface. Lava spews shot like geysers, and a smog of heat and smoke and ash hung in the air. The only light came from the glow of the molten crust, and the wind brought no relief. In the distance, the monuments of industry towered over the landscape. Mining operations with droids and blue force fields dotted the horizon, scraping value from the roiling slag. 

The Force roiled here too, like the magma bubbling up from under the crust. The storm disturbing the fabric of the galaxy, clouding the future was closer here. It was hard to concentrate, hard to think with all the Dark pressing in on him.

Obi-Wan pulled out his commlink and played the transmission again. Even with Avee’s best efforts, the recording had degraded almost to being unwatchable. All Gunray’s other transmissions were intact, but something about the Sith corrupted the data.

“...not for a Sith…” The image of Sidious glitched, and the cloaked form of the Zabrak appeared behind him. “...prentice Lord Maul. He will find your lost ship.”

“Getting out...hand…two of…”

He clicked the commlink off and stuffed it into his cloak.

Obi-Wan shut his eyes and allowed himself to sink like a stone past the surface disturbances only to find the depths moving too. It obscured his vision, stifled his breath. The entire planet felt malevolent. Like it would swallow him with glee if he misstepped. Through the storm, something called to him, but he couldn’t make out the sound over the awful howling that caught the Force like a sail and pulled it taught. When Obi-Wan extended his senses into that storm, the burning fingers of the Dark Side reached back. 

_Jedi._

He jerked awake from his trance, and sweat beaded on his face. Overhead, Avee hovered protectively. How long had he been gone? He was facing a different direction now--not straight out from the ship but to the left toward a series of cliffs and lava falls.

Obi-Wan shook himself and pulled his shields tighter. “I’m fine.” 

He’d trained for this. He could not turn back now. 

He pointed to a facility nestled against the face of the black cliffs. “That one.”

Together he and Avee made their way across the treacherous surface to the facility. A few mining droids whizzed by but paid them no mind. Good. 

When they reached the side of the facility, well away from the front entrance. Obi-Wan laid his palm on the wall, and the sweat on his face went cold. He pressed his lips into a tight line. This was it. 

His green lightsaber was a strange, welcome sight amid the endless fire. With it, he carved an entrance in the wall and stepped into the lair. 

***

Depa walked the parliament building and the grounds looking for young Skywalker. The walk gave her the chance to release the tension she’d been holding in her shoulders all morning, and the outdoors of the capital were well kept. Beautiful. Planted flowers and ferns lined the walkways, and in the evening light scattered glow bugs were drifting from plant to plant. She reached for the Living Force, and it sang back to her.

What she wanted was to speak with Knight Kenobi, but when she’d asked after his whereabouts, the count would only say Obi-Wan was gone on a personal matter and left Anakin in the care of Lady Jenza. If he hadn’t returned by the time Depa needed to rejoin her people, it was impossible to say when they would speak. If ever.

She passed by a little garden alcove before she noticed a quiet presence in the Force and looked again. There Anakin was, crouched, tracing in the dirt with a stick. The padawan was dressed as he had been the night before, in soft purple and grey silks, now shoved up to his elbow as he drew some small creature in the soil. His hair nearly brushed his shoulders, and poking out from his blond locks was a stumpy padawan braid. 

She stopped, meaning to let him draw, but he paused and looked up. Embarrassment flicked across his face, and he scrambled up. Depa held up a hand. “You don’t have to stop, Anakin.”

He tossed the stick into some bushes and shook his head. “Nah, I was done.”

She’d nearly passed him by. Strange, since he’d been so brilliant in the Force when Qui-Gon had presented him to the Council. It shimmered around him now, humming with approval. His shields were strong and reinforced with more advanced handiwork. It seemed that for all of his dislike of the boy, his own secrets weren’t the only thing Dooku kept under careful watch.

She smiled. “It is good to see you, Anakin.”

He flinched, and the Force trembled with fear, but he bowed stiffly. His fear of speaking with a member of the Council who had rejected him was obvious, but he was taking great pains to hide it. How much more guarded he seemed now, and a pang of sorrow turned in the Jedi master’s heart. He was too young to have survived so much. Depa wanted to reassure him, but without trust, it would be an empty platitude. Instead, she gestured to a nearby green. “I was looking for a quiet place to practice some forms. Do you mind if I do so there?”

The boy glanced around as if for someone else, but whoever he was meant to stay close to was gone. It wasn’t good for him to be alone, even on Raxus. He nodded. “Yeah, that’s okay, I guess.”

“Thank you. Would you like to join me?”

Anakin hesitated, churning with indecision as he gave her a suspicious look. “Is this another test?”

“Do you want it to be?”

A sharp shake of the head. “No.”

“Then no.”

His suspicion decreased. How long had he and Kenobi been on the run after Naboo? Why wasn’t Kenobi here with his padawan? 

Anakin nodded. “Okay. But I don’t have a lightsaber yet.”

“That’s all right. We can work around that.”

He smiled. A genuine, unguarded smile, and the Force hummed its approval. 

***

Obi-Wan cut through the last of the security droids and spun his lightsaber in his hand. It sang against the Dark, and he was glad to have it with him. They’d been in this facility for less than half an hour, and the Dark Side was already unspeakably oppressive. 

How had the Order missed this? What else had then been blind to?

The Jedi pulled his shields tighter and reinforced them. He couldn’t afford to be vulnerable here.

“Avee, can you access the central computer?”

She beeped and nodded with her entire body. 

“Good. Get as much as you can. I don’t want to stay here any longer than we have to.”

She whirred after him with a distressed noise. 

“Don’t worry. I’m going to have a look around.”

It was time to make sure the master of the house wasn’t home.

***

Anakin was a natural at the unarmed forms. Like most children, he grew frustrated with mistakes, responded well to praise and encouragement. At the Temple, he would have been behind his agemates. But not far. Kenobi had done a good job instilling the basic stances and patterns, and Anakin was matching Depa’s steady pace with confidence. Perhaps they had been too quick to judge him on Coruscant. 

As they closed another form and bowed, a steely presence approached from behind.

“Master Billaba.”

She finished exhaling, closing the form completely before she turned to face Dooku. “Count.” 

“Ugh,” Anakin whispered under his breath.

It wasn’t loud enough for the count to have heard, but Anakin’s dislike was palpable in the Force. Dooku shot the boy a disapproving look. “I apologize if young Skywalker has been bothering you, master. He is supposed to be at home reviewing his studies.”

“I finished them,” Anakin retorted. Then after a beat of awkward silence, “Almost all of them.”

Clearly, Qui-Gon’s high opinion of the boy was not shared by his old master. Depa put her hand on the padawan’s shoulder and smiled. “If you are as quick a study at your books as you are at second forms, you should finish a little reading quick enough.”

Anakin beamed then looked to Dooku. “Can I go find Jenza?”

The count nodded, and Anakin was gone like a shot to the edge of the green. Then he paused and waved back to Depa with a hollered “Thanks!” before disappearing into the parliament building. 

Dooku watched the boy go then shook his head with a sigh of exasperation. “That boy cannot keep himself out of trouble for more than an hour at a time. My apologies for the interruption.”

“There is no need. I assume you are supervising his training in Knight Kenobi’s absence?” 

“When he wishes to be taught."

She raised an eyebrow. "I found him an apt pupil." 

"Then perhaps you are a better teacher than I. But I did not come to discuss Anakin's curriculum. I wanted to apologize for the politics this morning. My colleagues and I find ourselves in a tenuous position of trust.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Trustworthy allies are precious things these days.” 

“Indeed. But I did not come to rehash hours of political rigamarole.” 

She gave him an even look and began to walk, waiting for him to speak first. He clenched a fist then opened it and fell into step beside her. Staring straight ahead, he said, “I understand that you may not wish to disclose exactly how many Jedi survived, or who may be among them, but I must ask…”

It would be better to be honest. Dooku may have left the Order, but he had been a Jedi for most of his life. It would be strange if he didn’t feel the loss at all. She shook her head. “Master Yoda did not survive. And I have no news of Rael.” 

The Force tremored then stilled. He bowed his head. “I see.” 

"It was a terrible loss. We mourn with you."

Something flickered in his face then was gone, and he raised his head. “Thank you, Master Billaba. Then I assume we have been negotiating with the de facto head of the Order?” 

She nodded. It was not entirely true, but it was not untrue either. However she felt about it until Mace recovered, the safety of their little band of survivors fell to her.

“Now that the protections are in place, I assume we shall not hear from the Jedi for some time?”

“You assume correctly. Perhaps a few of us will venture out to help where we can, but we must heal first. Remember who we are without the Republic.” 

There were other concerns. How to knight padawans who had survived the Purge. How to find kyber crystals to replace the lost lightsabers. The children on Jocasta’s holocron. It was too much. It wasn't enough.

“The Force will guide us.”

Dooku made an uncommitted noise. “The Force has been clouded of late. It is difficult to discern anything.”

Depa nodded. Obi-Wan must have told his grandmaster all about the Sith on Naboo, and the dark veil pulling itself across the face of the Force could only be the Dark Side. They walked in silence for a long time, winding through the ornamental trees and well-pruned flower beds. There was more nature here than in the heart of Coruscant, but Depa couldn’t shake the unease that had followed her from Lothal.

“How did Kenobi and Skywalker come to join you?”

“They found me some time ago,” Dooku said easily. “A few months after the Naboo crisis.”

“You are training him.”

“I am.”

Depa paused to push back a flower that had overgrown its railings and was in danger of being trampled. “He’s hunting the surviving Sith Lord, isn’t he?”

Dooku stopped short, and his surprise flickered in the Force then was gone like a candle blown out. He held his hands behind his back. “I see now why the Council elected you to replace me.”

She tilted her head. “You do not deny it.”

“No.”

Was this what he’d been trying to hide so carefully?

“That sounds like vengeance, Dooku.”

A reprimand. But he shrugged. "I am no longer a Jedi. And Kenobi would throw himself headlong into something even if I turned him away. Better that he be prepared for what he must face.”

She straightened back to her feet. “And what is that, count?”

“War.”

A chill ran down Depa’s arms. It was a terrible thought. The galaxy had not been at war, real war, in a thousand years. But a year ago, the Sith hadn’t been real either. 

“You’re turning him into a soldier.”

“A hunter.” He shook his head with a regretful expression. “The Sith have the Republic in their grasp, and in all my years as a Shadow, I have never known the dark to be satisfied. They will not stop until their oppression clouds the whole galaxy, and they _must_ be stopped. By any means necessary.”

The Force sang, but the song had a razor’s edge to it. The Dark Side with its siren lure offering power. It would be easy, it promised. Strike down the Sith, swing the saber, and peace would return to the galaxy. 

A beautiful lie. 

She couldn’t tell which of them it was singing to.

Exhaling, she shook her head. “Be careful, count. You and Obi-Wan are walking a dangerous path, and the desire for power, to do good, has led many astray.” 

If Dooku noticed it, he said nothing. Instead, he stopped beside a bush of white flowers and took a blossom in hand to examine it better. The five petals unfurled in his palm. He smiled as if they were only exchanging gardening ideas. “Afraid for my soul, Master Billaba?”

The Force tremored, and instead of the parliament building and grounds, Depa saw a rocky landscape coated with ash, ash falling from a yellowed sky. On a black throne crouched a husk of a creature with horns and torn robes, and behind it loomed a black tower. Depa caught her breath, and the air reeked of sulfur. The creature was desiccated. Frail. But in its right, skeletal hand, it clutched a crimson lightsaber, and spidering through its bare chest was a shatterpoint. It reached for her, palm upward in invitation. 

_Jedi._

Bile rose her throat, and she took a step back. 

Then the vision was gone as soon as it had come. She didn’t understand what she’d seen. Depa closed her eyes and brushed a hand over her own lightsaber. 

“I am afraid for all our souls.” 

***

Searching the facility from top to bottom took a surprisingly short amount of time. On the outside, it looked like a mining facility, but the interior was designed to support two or three sentients long term. He moved from room to room, surprised by the lack of traps. Well. He supposed someone had lived here and wouldn’t have wanted to be shot at every time they went into the kitchen. He did find a kitchen where all the perishables were rotted. Then he found a library with a surprisingly neutral collection of holobooks though he touched none of them. He was searching, not stupid. A hangar with no ships. A well-stocked med center. Living quarters. 

Obi-Wan hesitated on the threshold of the Sith’s living space then lit his lightsaber and forged ahead. 

The first was bare like it had been furnished and never lived in, but something stale hung in the air like death had walked through the room. 

The second was smaller, on the same floor on the other end of the building. It was dim, all reds and browns like Mustafar’s surface, and sparse save for the hunting trophies littered the walls--the head of a rathtar, horns and claws from a dozen species, ceremonial weapons. In the corner lay a mat with a jagged knife resting on an upside-down bowl.

The presence here was… familiar. Cold. This had been Maul’s quarters. The apprentice who spent more time here than the master. Obi-Wan stepped deeper into the room. What kind of monster--

The Force pressed a memory of _painpainpain_ into his mind, the scream of a child growing to the enraged howl of a man. The Jedi staggered back and caught the door frame to support himself against the wave of suffering and hatred. Nausea seizing him, he fell to one knee and threw up on the dull brown rug. 

The Force retreated, taking the memory with it.

Shaken, Obi-Wan shuddered and wiped his mouth on his wrist. Something ugly churned in his chest. In a few years, it might have turned to pity. But now the emotion was just a bitter draught laced with grief and anger. The Dark Side pushed it toward his lips, inviting him to drink. 

Obi-Wan leaped to his feet and strode out of the room. 

Next was the training hall. It was full of powered-down training droids, assassin droids, droids with vicious-looking weapons. Whatever training happened here had been brutal. Ignoring the nausea, Obi-Wan dismantled them all and ran his saber through the control panel to prevent any unwanted surprises. 

How had the Jedi missed this?

Then he called Avee. “How are we doing?”

She beeped, and his comm translated the binary. Half-finished. Slow work. A lot of corrupted data and infected files and encryptions. 

“All right. I only have one floor left, and I think it’s better if we don’t linger here any longer than we have to. Do what you can.”

Affirmative. 

He moved down to the lowest level of the facility where he found a reinforced door with heavy surveillance. It had to be a vault.

Obi-Wan touched the keypad, reached into it with the Force to try to break the lock, but it resisted. It was riddled with the Dark Side, would only respond to its master. He stepped back and walked down the hall lining the vault until he came to an air duct pumping cool air into the facility. It would do. The front had to be hiding all manner of traps anyway. 

He sliced the grate free and squeezed inside. After a long, slow crawl through the ventilation, he found a screen that let into the vault. Obi-Wan kicked it in then slipped into the open space and ignited his lightsaber. 

Cold, stale air filled the room, sighing past with a malevolence Obi-Wan could almost taste it. There were things in this vault, ancient and angry things. He would have to be careful not to wake any of them. 

A thin layer of dust coated everything. How long since this vault had been accessed? Since the Sith--since Maul perished? 

Had the master not returned for such a collection?

Maybe the remaining Sith had other, more valuable artifacts to tend. That wasn't a comforting thought.

A black suit of metallic armor covered in spikes stood against one wall as if awaiting wear. Shelves lined the rest of the walls, filled with actual paper codices and dim purple holocrons and masks and weapons that held traces of long-dormant evil. It made Obi-Wan feel ill to look at them too long. He didn’t have the gift of reading an object’s past like Quinlan. But the thought of taking one of the cursed objects from their display--even for leverage against the Sith--made the hair on his neck stand on end. 

He picked his way along one wall. Sith artifacts had never been his area of study. He doubted they had been for any Jedi still living, save for Dooku. The work of a Jedi Shadow had exposed the count to more of the Dark Side than Obi-Wan cared to imagine. But it was why he had contacted the man in the first place. To learn to hunt in the dark. 

Maybe he should call his grandmaster. Dooku wouldn’t be able to come all the way across the galaxy, but he might know what to do with something like this. 

Unless he didn’t want Dooku to know about this. Obi-Wan hesitated. Why had he thought that? Hadn’t he made the decision to trust him? To trust him with Anakin? Dooku was evasive when they last spoke. He was hiding something. Oh Force, he’d left Anakin—

Obi-Wan knocked into a pedestal and caught it at the last second. The obsidian sphere sitting atop it tilted and fell. 

“No!”

Better to touch it with the Force than let it break. He threw out a hand, and it bobbed to a stop inches from the floor. Carefully he set it back atop the pedestal and exhaled in relief. His breath misted in front of his face, and the orb caught the green light of his saber with a sickening sheen. 

_Jedi._

It called to him.

He exhaled another misty breath and noticed the temperature of the room had plummeted. This place was a poison. The cloud of the Dark Side was distorting his thoughts, making him doubt what he knew. He should back away. Find Avee and blow this wretched castle sky high. 

Obi-Wan took a step back, and it was like walking through knee-deep mud. Holding his lightsaber in front of him, he whispered the meditation he’d taught Anakin. “I am one with the Force; the Force is with me.” 

The inside of the stone seemed to shift like black smoke. Like a storm. 

“I am one with the Force; the Force is with me.” 

It called to him. 

It offered knowledge, wisdom for one strong enough to take it. If only he would stretch out his hand--

“I am one. With the Force.” He took a half step back, now a full arm’s length away. 

He could almost hear Dooku’s voice, the Core accent, the exacting cadence from their dueling training. _“If you seek victory over your enemy, you must first know them.”_

“Knowledge does not guarantee victory,” Obi-Wan murmured. "The Force is with me." He lowered his saber, but the orb held the sickly green reflection of the blade’s light. 

_“No. But ignorance will assure defeat.”_

The horrible shuddering of Qui-Gon's dying breath reached his ears. He should have been faster. He could have been faster.

“There is no ignorance.” He exhaled hard. “There is knowledge.”

The hazy echo of blaster fire and screams echoed through the walls. The Force twisted around him in grief, wailing. He should have been there. He should have known the surviving Sith would lash out at the Jedi. He should have known. 

There was so much he didn’t know. 

He stepped closer. 

_“Through knowledge, you will gain strength.”_ It wasn’t Dooku’s voice anymore. _“Through strength, victory.”_

 _"Master!"_ Anakin. _"Obi-Wan, help me!"_

It called to him.

Obi-Wan reached for the artifact. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dooku thought he had his messing around with the Dark Side under wraps, but Depa isn't acting head of the Order to be duped by his nonsense. In AoTC, the Council is pretty adamant that Dooku can't have gone bad until there's undeniable evidence, so I think she also wants to believe he's an ally, but she's not about to get burned again. 
> 
> They never interact in canon, but Depa took Dooku seat on the council after he left and both wrestle with the Dark Side and end up making very different choices. There are some fascinating parallels I'm still figuring out, but this definitely isn't the last we'll hear from Depa.


	13. The Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan and Dooku face the consequences of fooling with the Dark Side and learn very different lessons.

Dooku stared down at the dying flower in his hand. Could the Jedi feel it? The way the dark drew closer, obscuring all their vision, twisting the truth. All their negotiating would be for nothing if the Sith were not pulled up by the root. He gave her an easy smile. “Afraid for my soul, Master Billaba?”

Was that the real reason she was here? To stop him from doing what had to be done? The new Master of the Order had been an accomplished duelist, but she was alone, he at the seat of his power. It would a terrible thing, but if she tried to stop him--

But the Force shivered around her, and Billaba narrowed her eyes then focused her gaze on something past him. Dooku had heard about Mace Windu’s ability to see shatterpoints. The Force showed him weaknesses, vulnerabilities. Once, Dooku had seen the man collapse an entire cliff face with one surgical lightsaber cut. Such skills tended to pass from master to apprentice, so it was reasonable to assume Master Billaba could see them as well. 

How many had she found on Raxus?

The Force shuddered, and a terrible dread sank in Dooku’s stomach followed by a flare of irritation. What had Skywalker--

He reached for the boy’s presence and found him tumultuous as ever but perfectly content with Jenza. No, not Skywalker.

Obi-Wan. 

The boy should have been back from Onderon by now. No doubt he'd used the favor with the university to run headlong into some other fine mess. 

Depa took a step back and shook her head, eyes shut, brown skin ashen. She exhaled slowly, and the Master of the Order was herself once more. “I am afraid for all our souls.”

Letting the dying flower fall, Dooku rose to his full height. “The age of peace is over, Master Billaba. We would all be wise to be prepared.”

“For war. You’re so certain it will come to that.”

“I would not presume to tell you how to lead the Order. But I have seen the future, and there is no place in it for peacekeepers.”

Something crystallized in the Force at that moment. The Jedi master fell silent then she lowered her chin with a determined air. “You’re right. You should not presume.”

So that was the kind of allies they were to be then. So be it. Yoda had never listened either, but Dooku had hoped for better from the old master's successor. He bowed. “Excuse me, Master Billaba. We are expecting the Republic to seek negotiations any day now, and I must be prepared to deal with their demands.” 

He made it two steps before she called after him. “You don’t have any.”

Stopping short, he looked back. 

“Shatterpoints.” She gave him an appraising look then shook her head. “Whatever it is you’re going to do, you’ve already decided. I hope whatever it is brings you wisdom, Dooku. It will not bring you peace.” Then she turned her back to him and was gone.

Dooku allowed himself a moment of anger before he strode away from the garden towards the parliament building. They could have been formidable allies, but there was no use stewing over the past. 

Now he had to find out what had happened to his fool of an apprentice. 

***

The sphere was ice cold on his skin, and Obi-Wan felt lightheaded. He gritted his teeth and shut his eyes until the wave passed, pulling his shields closer around himself. When he opened his eyes again, the door to the vault stood open, and beyond it was a long hallway with sheer black walls. That was not what had been outside the vault before. 

The air was cold and cloying, and the sphere still held the green light of his lightsaber. His hand went to his belt, and the weapon was still there. Off, but there. The green light flickered and twisted as if reflecting off water.

He was dreaming.

This had to be a dream. But that didn't mean it wasn't dangerous. 

Obi-Wan let go of the sphere and did a slow turn to examine the entire room. The collection was still there, but something told him nothing good would come of inspecting them. 

Well... if touching the sphere had brought him here, maybe it would take him out. He touched the orb again, and the same burning sensation flared through his palm. Nothing changed. 

When the sphere didn’t return him to the real vault, the Jedi took a step back from the pedestal, and it continued to cast eerie shadows across the masks and the armor and holocrons making them seem almost alive. The shadows were moving, he realized. Shifting out of the vault into the hall like smoke. 

The dread he’d been carrying since landing on Mustafar rose in his gorge, and he choked it down. The Sith-damned artifact had preyed on his fears, called to the darkness lurking inside him. Qui-Gon would be ashamed of easy his padawan let it get the best of him. He should have let the cursed thing smash. 

The Force pulled him in the direction of the hall outside the vault. Quiet. Insistent.

What a fine mess he’d gotten himself into. He had to trust the Force to guide him now. It was faint, little more than a flicker. But it was there, and there was no way back. Only forward. 

Obi-Wan took a step toward the hall. The shadows coiled around him, carrying screams and wails and blaster fire. Did he really want to know? He had stretched out his hand for knowledge. Was he able to bear what he would see?

With a shudder, he took another step. A Jedi's trust was in the Force. Even if it took him somewhere he did not want to go. 

Carefully, he left the vault and ventured into the narrow halls.

*** 

This early in the evening, the parliament building still teamed with senators and workers, but Dooku brushed them all aside as he made his way to his office. It was, thankfully, empty. He had work to do and preferred to not need to boot Jenza and Skywalker from the room. He locked the door fast behind him, shut the automatic blinds, and removed the artifact from the safe then from its box. Not bothering with the time it would take to complete the arm wrapping, he let the sphere drop into his hands. It froze his skin, but he held fast. There was too much to be done to be deterred by a little thing like physical discomfort. 

The office fell away, then Raxus. Dooku stood at a crossroads with two halls that seemed identically narrow and harsh. A sourceless dim light illuminated the space and cast shadows in every direction. 

He’d been in this labyrinth before when he peered into the artifact. It was a maze, perhaps a real space, perhaps some mental projection of time and space, the metaphysics of the Force made tangible to sentient understanding. But the specifics didn’t matter. There were endless tomes on it, old Jedi sages arguing the nature of the Force, of time, of life itself, but all their arguments had yielded them neither answers nor action, and he had surpassed them. With an iron will, Dooku could bend the space to take him where he wanted to go. 

He could sense Kenobi’s presence. The boy was hopelessly adrift with no idea how to get out. He’d wander here for a thousand years without reaching the door. 

Dooku reached out a hand, and the halls groaned and folded in on themselves until there was only one path before his feet. 

Now all that remained was to lead Obi-Wan to him. 

***

Obi-Wan came to yet another fork in the endless hallways. He made a full turn, straining for any sign of the direction he needed to go. How long had he been here? 

The air was cold and thin, and the dim, soundless light that illuminated the world cast long shadows from his feet, one reaching down each hallway. Though the floor was firm beneath his feet, he felt like he stood on the edge of a knife, every moment a miscalculation away from tumbling into an endless abyss. He closed his eyes and breathed through the mounting horror in his chest. He wasn’t even sure where _here_ was anymore. 

The endless wandering reminded him of his trip to Illum. Walking for an eternity in the ice caves, shimmying through narrow cracks and leaping over bottomless crevasse as he followed the Force wherever it led. Yoda wouldn’t be waiting when he found his way out of here. 

He never should have gone in that vault. 

Somewhere in the distance, he heard the low whoosh of a door sliding open. He frowned and turned toward it, and in the distance, a path of pale green light stretched down the hall from a narrow door. His instincts screamed that this was a trap, but there wasn’t anywhere else to go but into the dim unknown, wandering until he found his way out or collapsed from exhaustion.

Obi-Wan found himself at the door. On the other side was Dooku’s office in the castle on Serenno. Evening sunlight filtered through the window in a sickly green light, backlighting a desk and a tall figure. 

“Apprentice.” 

Dooku. 

He stepped out of the shadow, and he looked like he had aged a decade since Obi-Wan last saw him. Stress and anger lined his face, and his white hair had thinned, but he stood tall as ever, and his shadow stretched across the floor. His eyes gleamed in the green light, nearly yellow. Obi-Wan gave him a dubious look. “Dooku?”

The count tucked his hands behind his back and tilted his head with a judgmental air. “Your senses haven’t taken leave of you yet, I see, but it seems your sense has. What are you doing here, Obi-Wan? You are supposed to be en route to Raxus.”

Obi-Wan flinched internally. Well, if this was a vision, it sounded like Dooku. “It seems I could be asking you the same question. Master.” 

Dooku’s face mirrored Obi-Wan suppressed irritation, and he didn’t answer. So Obi-Wan relented first and hitched his shoulders. “I had a detour.”

“Clearly.”

“I found Maul’s home.” 

Home seemed a strange word to apply to such a place, but the Zabrak had lived here, so it was as good as any. And it cracked Dooku’s calm exterior. “What?” His voice echoed in the room. “You should have contacted me. Obi-Wan, what have you done?”

“You seem a little busy with your own work.” Obi-Wan looked pointedly around the office. “What is this place?”

With an exhale bordering between dismissive and amused, Dooku descended the stairs. With each step, the shadows receded from his face until he was himself again. He gestured to the space with one hand. “Impressive, isn’t it? Nowhere and everywhere at once."

“And we are here--” The memory of the black orb with its shifting interior came to him. He snapped his glare to his grandmaster. “Dooku. How did you get here?”

But the count didn’t seem bothered by Obi-Wan’s reproach. “The same way as you, I imagine. Interesting that Maul kept a seeing stone.”

“A seeing stone?”

“An old Sith artifact, used by the dark lords of old to speak across great distances, and for the strong, to sift answers from the depths of the Force.”

The hair on Obi-Wan’s neck stood on end. A thing like that should have been dashed to bits and tossed aside like the poison it was. If the Sith had used it to communicate, there was no way of knowing who else could be listening. Watching them right now. He clenched his jaw and raised his chin. “Where did you get one?”

Dooku turned his head, and his eyes flashed reflective with that yellow-green light again. The image of a mineshaft deep below the surface of the Serenno entered his mind, heavy mining machinery uncovering a long-buried Sith shrine from an older age, the eyes of the statues scratched out, the hands removed to steal them of their power. Obi-Wan shuddered at the thought of such a place even as he realized he was already in one. 

“Why did you use it? It’s evil. It’s...” He gestured to the office walls and Force only knew what lay beyond them. He wanted out of here. Preferably sooner than later. 

But Dooku broke into his thoughts. “For the same reason you did, my apprentice.”

Shame rose like nausea in Obi-Wan’s throat, and he broke his gaze from Dooku’s. “I thought you had better judgment.” He didn’t know if he was talking to himself or his teacher. 

If Dooku felt the insult, he made no show it. Instead, he said, “Smoke is rising from the droid foundries on Geonosis. The hour grows late, and war is coming. We cannot delay.” 

Obi-Wan shook his head. “War? The Republic isn’t ready for a galactic conflict. They wouldn’t dare attack before they’ve tried to negotiate. We have time--”

“Time? Obi-Wan, what time do you think we have? The Sith have been working in the shadows for millennia; we are the ones who must scramble to defend ourselves against their machinations. We cannot afford to be timid and ignorant.”

That sounded dangerously unlike a Jedi. But, Obi-Wan thought with self-reproach, Dooku was not a Jedi. Not anymore. Obi-Wan offered what felt like a weak smile. “So you would turn to the Sith to find their weakness? That seems... self-defeating."

“It is necessary if we are to divine their weakness. I have seen it, Obi-Wan, the ruin the Sith will wreak on this galaxy if we do not act to stop it.” 

“Nothing here can be trusted. Can’t you feel it? It will try to destroy us.”

The count crossed the wide office floor to stand beside his apprentice, and his boots made a very real-sounding click on the floor. “The natural state of the universe is entropic. Everything tends towards decay, dissolution, isolation. Darkness. It is strong. But together--” Dooku put a hand on the Jedi’s shoulder with startlingly real weight. “Together, we will be stronger. Together we can restore order to the galaxy and destroy the Sith. I have foreseen it.”

He could not be hearing this. This could not be real; it was a nightmare brewed by that thrice-damned seeing stone. Obi-Wan looked at Dooku’s hand with its age spots and wrinkles. The hand that had guided his master, that now steered half the chaotic galaxy. He had hoped it would guide him, but now he wanted nothing more than to escape it. His next words left him with a shudder. “No. No, that is not what I want.”

“You want to protect your padawan, don’t you?

At the mention of Anakin, Obi-Wan stiffened. “Don’t talk about him here.”

Something cold curled around Dooku. “Shall I tell you the Sith Lord’s plans for him? What he will do if he finds Anakin?”

“Shut up--”

“You wanted me to teach you. And I thought I could, that I could mold you into the warrior you sought to become, but I see now that it was not enough. You are strong, Obi-Wan, but not strong enough to destroy the Sith. I was going to wait to share this with you. Until you were ready. Until you had seen for yourself, but time is not on our side--"

"I said shut up."

"You may kill them, but no one can do what is necessary to stamp out the rot in this galaxy and remain a Jedi.” 

Obi-Wan slapped Dooku's hand away. "You're not real. Qui-Gon's master would never talk like this."

Something like despair flashed in Dooku's eyes then hardened to fierce frown. "Qui-Gon would understand if he were here. He would see the truth of what I am telling you."

This wasn't real. He had to wake up. He had to wake up now. 

***

When the alarm came, Palpatine was stood among a group of loyalist senators, listening to them endlessly debate the need for more droids, for more security measures against the rising star of the Separatists. It had been easy to sway Valorum to seizing the droids in the first place. A little threat against his power--which the young Queen Amidala had obligingly provided--pair with a promise of stability if only, if _only_ he would take decisive action. So the Trade Federation’s army was stolen for the greater good, Valorum’s chancellorship preserved, and the cracks in the foundation of the Republic widened to chasmic proportions. And frightened by the tremors, the loyal senators fell into line. Palpatine almost smiled. 

Then his commlink chimed ever so quietly, and he excused himself to take the message. 

An alarm on one of his properties had been triggered. To anyone else, the nondescript alert and attached ID string would have meant nothing. A break-in. A wild animal triggering an alarm. But he recognized it instantly--the Hego Damask holdings on Mustafar. 

Palpatine kept a sneer from his lips. The facility was abandoned since Maul’s untimely failure and death at the hands of that Jedi whelp. But there were still valuable things in that vault, echoes of Maul’s life. Activating the self-destruct sequence was easy enough. A call to the central computer bounced across a dozen relay stations across the galaxy until it was nigh untrackable. But he needed to know if the interloper required any cleaning up after. 

So he made his way to his home, not the public-facing penthouse on the upper-levels, but the fortress deep below Coruscant's crust. When he arrived, his few servants scuttled away at the rumbling of his footsteps. One of them would likely be dead by the evening’s end, offered up to his rage or to his rituals, but that would come later. 

Now to see who had dared to trespass in his domain. He made his way to the vault and summoned the crystalline black orb that was twin to the one on Mustafar. Its other mates had been lost long ago to the Jedi’s fanatic hunting and destruction of Sith artifacts, but these two he had recovered. Through it, he peered and saw the face of a familiar young Jedi. 

_Kenobi._

The destruction of the Jedi had been a sweet, sudden victory hung entirely from the fraying thread of Valorum’s trust, but it had not been thorough. Somehow the insolent padawan, and others, had survived. He would need to look into escalating Project Reforge to clean up after the battle droids. 

Kenobi, in particular, had evaded Sidious’ grasp for months, hauling Skywalker across the galaxy and cutting off all the Sith’s attempts to locate the boy. Skywalker was too dangerous to leave as a loose end. If he could not be corrupted, he had to be eliminated. 

But now, now the fool padawan had stumbled onto the Sith’s stronghold on Mustafar. It seemed even in death, Maul had failed. But perhaps it was not a great loss. Kenobi had brought with him the other pain in Sidious’ side: Dooku.

So that was how Kenobi and Skywalker had been hiding for all these months, cowering in the shadow of a former Jedi. Sidious peered after Dooku and saw the man far from Mustafar holding yet another seeing stone. And what a long shadow he cast, this Jedi playing at being a Sith. A grin spread across the Sidious' face. How hard did the mighty fall. If they wanted to peer into the mysteries of the Dark Side, then he would gladly show them. 

***

An icy dread sucked the breath from Obi-Wan’s lungs. He took a step back, not far enough to feel safe from the specter that wore Dooku's face, but enough that he could breathe. This wasn’t real. “You’re not real.” 

“Obi-Wan,” Dooku’s tone was a warning. “Do not be deceived—“ 

He stepped toward Obi-Wan, and the Jedi flinched back only for the floor to betray him. He was falling. He grabbed at the air for any way to slow his fall but caught nothing. Then Obi-Wan hit the ground hard, harder than should have been possible for a place that wasn’t exactly real. 

He scrambled back to his feet and looked around the thick fog that now enveloped him. That icy dread was still there, draining the heat from his skin and digging its claws into his heart. He crouched and raised both fists, but no monster came rushing out of the shadows.

Instead, Obi-Wan saw Dooku, older, more haggard even than he had looked before, and the count stood on the edge of a knife-thin path peering down into the abyss. 

“Master!” Obi-Wan called. “Come back from there.”

But Dooku couldn’t hear him. Or wasn’t listening. He raised a hand toward the dark, but Obi-Wan couldn’t tell if it was in greeting or rejection. His faith in the former Jedi had been badly shaken, but he couldn’t allow that specter above to corrupt his judgment. He didn’t want to see the man fall. He couldn’t let Qui-Gon’s master fall. Obi-Wan’s heart lurched into his throat, and he stumbled toward the count. but the fog was thick as water and dragged him down. “Master! Come back from there.”

A distorted echo came back to him. A mockery. 

_Maaaaster._

Obi-Wan leaped out onto the path and wavered for a second before catching his balance again. Then he half-ran along it, reaching for Dooku. But the count leaned over the dark like he could pierce the shadows if only he peered hard enough, as if he could will them to bend back and give up their secrets. 

Thunder rumbled in the distance. 

No. Not thunder. 

An explosion. It rocked the ground, and Obi-Wan stopped short and reeled. Another explosion knocked his feet out from under him, and he tumbled from the ledge, catching himself with one hand. 

_Poor lost Jedi._ The dark curled around him and whispered in his ear. _No master. No father. You’re going to die. You’re going to die here, and there will be no one to save your padawan._

Fear seized him, and he caught his second hand on the ledge that still reverberated with the aftershocks of the last explosion. He heard the sound of a lightsaber striking durasteel, felt the sparks on his face. He screwed his eyes shut and forced himself to breath through his teeth. This was a dream. Not Naboo. This was a dream, and he had to wake up. 

He pulled himself up onto the ledge. Had it gotten narrower? The top of it bit into his palms, and he had to catch his balance as he rushed toward Dooku. Just a little faster. “Dooku! It’s just a dream.”

The count looked down into the dark as if watching something go by, another explosion rocked the ledge. White ash drifted down like snow and caught in Obi-Wan’s beard, his eyes, his nose. He smeared it away, but as the boom faded, a steady, rhythmic hammering continued. Boots. Countless marching boots. 

He was so close. Obi-Wan grabbed for his tunic, but the count turned to mist and dissolved in the Jedi’s hands. 

“No!” Obi-Wan skidded to a stop, trying to correct his momentum, and he teetered on the edge of the ledge, arms swinging wildly. Breathing hard, he threw himself back and caught his balance. He’d been too slow. Again.

His voice echoed back to him. _Maaasster. MAAAAAASTER._

“Master!” 

Anakin.

Obi-Wan reached for the boy’s presence, but there was nothing but the ashfall and the rhythmic marching of boots filled his ears. “Anakin! Anakin, where are you?”

“Obi-Wan, help me!” the boy cried. 

“Anakin!” Sprinting off into nothing wouldn’t help his padawan. He had to think, he had to--

Anakin screamed. 

Unable to hold himself back, Obi-Wan bolted toward the voice, knowing it wasn’t real, knowing he couldn’t do anything to make it stop. The fear--Anakin’s fear. “Anakin, answer me. Help me find you!”

_The Chancellor is evil..._

The scream--a hoarse cry now--came from another direction. Obi-Wan skidded to a stop, now ankle-deep in ash. His heart hammered in his chest, and his fists shook with anger. This was a dream. This was a dream. 

“Master.” The voice came from right behind him, and Obi-Wan whirled and found himself face to face with a nightmare. Anakin, older, maybe in his late teens. A half-head taller than Obi-Wan, he had broad shoulders and golden curls and, sunk deep in their sockets, even more golden eyes. Maul’s eyes. He glowered at the Jedi with such antipathy that Obi-Wan took an involuntary step back from the boy who had become a stranger. 

The stranger's voice was a rasp. “Where were you, Obi-Wan?” 

_It was said you would destroy the Sith…_

“I’m here.” Helpless, he reached for his padawan. “I’m here.”

The boy’s glower deepened. “You betrayed me.”

“No.” Obi-Wan shook his head. “No, I made a mistake. I never should have come here, but I told Dooku--the ghost--I told him no--"

An expression of blazing hate contorted Anakin’s face in a scream. “I _hate_ you!”

“Anakin, no! Anakin!” Obi-Wan reached for him, scrambled after him, but the ash clung to his feet and dragged him to his knees, and the nightmare of his padawan faded like a ghost. 

_“I have failed you, Anakin. I have failed you.”_

Obi-Wan cradled his head in his hands, trying to center himself amid the waves of visions. War and death. The Force keened with it. He had to stop it. How could he stop it?

Deliberate steps clicked on the ground behind him, and a familiar presence stopped behind him. Obi-Wan gritted his teeth at the specter’s timing. 

“You have seen it.” Dooku sounded almost regretful, which was most certainly not real. “You have seen what he will become if we do not destroy the Sith.”

It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. Kind, open-hearted Anakin warped into some kind of monster. Obi-Wan shook his head. “It’s a dream. None of this is going to happen. Not the armies, not the war, not... not Anakin.” But his words sounded hollow even to him. 

“Join me. Together we will destroy the Sith and make sure what happened to the Jedi never occurs again. Together we will save Anakin from his clutches.” 

Slowly, Obi-Wan rose to one knee and glared over his shoulder at the count. Could he do that? Betray everything he had been raised to be, even to stop something terrible? No. He couldn't betray Qui-Gon like that. And wherever he went, Anakin would follow. Flinging himself into the dark after power would doom them both. 

"Never," he said, even as his voice shook. 

A pause. Dooku’s face tightened. “I see. I gave you the chance to aid me willingly, Obi-Wan. Remember that.” And Dooku raised a hand with fingers outstretched, and the air sparked a moment before white lightning arced from his hand. It struck Obi-Wan with blistering heat. There was nothing but pain, white pain without end. 

***

Dooku jolted out of the vision, and the seeing stone slipped from his hands and thudded to the ground. It rolled across the floor to rest at the foot of the shelf, and the dying light caught a single crack through the center of it arched like a branch of crystalline lightning. It was most likely useless now.

More drained than he was willing to admit, Dooku allowed himself to drop into a chair and cover his face with one hand. He hadn’t meant to reveal so much so early, but he hadn’t expected the Jedi to find another seeing stone. What had Obi-Wan been thinking? Marching into a Sith fortress alone and grabbing any artifact he could get his hands on. Damn Jedi courage had nearly killed him. 

With a pained grimace, the count curled his lips back and sighed. Under different circumstances, the conversation might have gone differently. If they hadn’t been interrupted, if the visions hadn’t started. For the first time since he’d found the seeing stone, there had been someone else there, watching, twisting the fabric of the Force to warp Dooku’s vision. He couldn’t know for sure who it was, but if he was half the betting man his late brother had been, Dooku would have laid every credit he had on Sidious. The sheer power of the Sith was not something the count would underestimate again. Next time he had the displeasure of meeting Sidious, he would be ready, and he would have Kenobi by his side.

Obi-Wan... he had too much of his master’s stubbornness and not enough of his pragmatism. It would be difficult to persuade the Jedi of the truth--that the Dark was a distasteful, necessary inevitability. Perhaps now that he had seen the weight of what was coming, his idealism would be tempered with a little foresight.

Dooku got to his feet and walked to the office window that looked over the grounds of the parliament. A thousand systems had rallied behind him, placed him at their helm, and a thousand more would follow in the weeks to come. Yes, he would lay the Republic's corruption bare and break its stranglehold on the galaxy. Then he would break the Sith, and the galaxy would be set to rights. The artifact had merely shown him the truth that he had suspected for a long time--the Sith were persistent and patent. They would not die by easy means. So be it. He was prepared to wait for justice for Qui-Gon's death, even if it took time to persuade Kenobi. Yes. He was well-accustomed to the dark. 

***

Obi-Wan awoke to the sound of his own ragged gasps. Avee drifted above him, sparking and struggling to keep aloft. Her plating was blackened like she'd shorted out.

“A--” His voice cracked in his hoarse throat. He swallowed painfully, and his ears popped. “Avee. What happened?”

She rattled off in binary faster than he could hope to track. He shook his head. “I… don’t understand.”

She dipped and pushed the sphere into his line of sight and further away from him, and he recoiled from it, scrambling to his knees with muscles still spasming from his electrocution. His head had such an almighty drumming in it that he thought his skull might split. This had to be real. Whatever he had seen in that artifact, in those terrible, vivid visions, he would deal with that later. Right now he was still inside a Sith fortress. 

Avee dipped a few inches and began to beep frantically. A single tone over and over again, each getting closer to the next. 

The tone of an armed detonator. 

He forced his shaking legs under him and staggered to the now open door of the vault. “We have to get out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! This chapter kind of jumped the rails on me, so Obi-Wan's revelation about Dooku came a few chapters earlier than I expected. There will be 2-3 more chapters for this arc of the story, and then I have a second arc planned for everything I want to do with this AU before we hit our happy ending. 
> 
> While we don't know a lot about it, I think Dooku's fall to the Dark Side tracks a pretty similar trajectory to Saruman's fall in Lord of the Rings where he goes looking for a way to defeat his enemy and falls into despair and the lure of power. Which is why I leaned pretty heavily on Gandalf's encounter with Saruman in Fellowship of the Ring for some of the dialogue in this chapter. 
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos and reviews!!


	14. The Disparate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All roads lead to Geonosis.

Obi-Wan staggered out of the vault and caught himself on the door frame. There was a horrible clattering behind him, and he swung around to see Avee on the ground, sparking with her arms in the air like an upended crab. 

“Avee. Oh, Anakin will kill me if I lose you.” He scooped her off the ground and tucked her under one arm and staggered down the hall. The walls were straight and dark, but they actually led him where he wanted to go. Thank the Force.

How long did he have? His muscles kept spasming from whatever electric shock the prowler droid had hit him with to wake him from those awful visions. He didn’t want to think about what he had seen; he didn’t have time.

Obi-Wan skidded around a corner and stopped. Which way out? The Force was shouting at him now. They had to get out now. He was on the lowest level.

Obi-Wan drove his lightsaber into the floor and dragged it in a circle until the metal sheared free. A plume of sparks and heat caught him in the face, and he squinted down at the river of lava running far below. So he wasn’t going that way.

With a flick of his wrist, he sliced through the nearest wall. Then the next and the next, where he stumbled into a trio of sentry droids. Startled, he punched the first one and got a jolt of pain through his knuckles as he sent it reeling.

How had he missed them in his initial sweep? 

The other two fired at him, but he delimbed one and used it as a shield against its fellows. Then he used the Force to hurl it forward, and as it knocked the other two down, he was right behind it, a whirlwind of light and fire. All three droids fell into a smoking pile of bits.

Avee electrocuted him again, beeping in that same warning whine, and he winced. “All right. All right. I haven't forgotten.” He sprinted on to the end of the hall and cut through the wall, and when he kicked out the free metal playing, it toppled away onto the bank of hardened black lava. Then the Force screamed in warning, and every hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

He leaped, blindly, recklessly. The castle detonated behind him.

A bank of fire and heat caught Obi-Wan up and sent him tumbling through the air, end over end until he landed on the hot lava flats and rolled several meters before coming to a stop, all while clutching Avee to his chest. Wincing, he propped himself up on one elbow. The burning remains of the castle belching smoke into the sky in a hideous smear. A moment later, the support beams caved under the heat and stress, and with a horrific snapping of metal, the compound collapsed into the lava river below.

A wave of sparks rolled over him, but Obi-Wan let out a shaky laugh and dropped his forehead to rest on his fist. The Sith had prefered to destroy themselves than let their secrets be learned, but he had survived again. Perhaps the Force was with him after all. But soon the heat of the nearby lava grew unbearable, and he pushed himself to his feet, tucked Avee under one arm, and picked his way across the lava flats back toward _The Revenant_. 

*** 

The hangar was quiet this early in the morning. Or this late. It was two hours past midnight and Jenza still hadn’t been to bed. The eternal overhead lights gave the cavernous space and its ships the same sense of timelessness that all space travel had. Perhaps whoever ran the hangar thought it best to get a jump start on adjusting to a new planet's rotation schedule.

Anakin trudged beside her, hiding his yawning behind one hand. He belonged in bed at this hour, but he and Yan were on their way to review the newly completed droid armies on Geonosis. It was short notice--her brother had come home well past his usual hour and told her of Poggle's invitation--but the sooner the Confederacy had their army in hand, the sooner they could force the Republic to the negotiating table. The idea of having armies made Jenza uneasy, the irony of avoiding war through deterrent escalation, she supposed, but it was a moot point now. She only hoped they weren’t starting something they couldn’t finish.

The sun sailor was waiting, fueled and ready to fly. Jenza stopped and crouched to put herself at Anakin’s eye level. “All right. You’re all ready to go?”

He shifted his bag higher on his shoulder, still bleary eyed from being woken. It had been unavoidable, but Anakin hadn’t slept a full night since Obi-Wan left Raxus, and he needed all the sleep he could get. When Yan joined them, she’d make him promise to put Anakin back to bed for the hyperspace journey, accusations of coddling or not.

Anakin hid a yawn behind his hand. “Don’t want to go. I want to stay with you.”

“I know, but it’s safer for you to go with Yan right now.”

He made a face that wasn’t quite rude enough to be worth reprimanding, so she gave him a warning look instead. “I know you’ll behave. And you’ll be back soon.”

“What if--” Anakin grew solemn. “What if you’re not here when I get back?”

“Then you’ll have to come to Serenno, dear. I know we've been on Raxus for a long time, but we do still live--”

“No. I mean what if something bad happens.”

Oh. Jenza took both his hands and pressed them. “Oh, Anakin. Dear. I know you've seen some very frightening things in your dreams, but they are only dreams. Nothing bad is going to happen, and when you return, it will be summer on Serenno, and we will have dinner in Carannia again and walk on the beach.”

Anakin peered out from under his bangs. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

He threw his arms around her neck, knocking her back, and she had to throw one hand behind her to catch herself from toppling over. But they steadied, and Anakin buried his face in the crook of her neck like he was afraid she would dissolve if he let go. She didn't need the Force to feel the weight of everything he had lost. “It’s all right," she murmured.

A shadow fell across them. “If you’re quite finished attacking my sister, Skywalker.”

At Yan’s voice, Jenza started, but Anakin gave her neck one last squeeze before he let go and backed up. Jenza got to her feet with a groan—her knees weren’t what they used to be, and she threw her brother a reproachful glance. “Brother. Good of you to join us.”

“Jenza." He nodded. "You didn’t have to see us off.”

“Nonsense. I was already awake.”

Yan nodded towards the ship, and Anakin inhaled stiffly, shouldered his bag higher, and climbed the ramp into the ship.

Once he was out of sight and earshot, Jenza sighed and smoothed back her flyaway hairs, of which there were many. “I’m still not sure about this.”

“It isn’t safe for him to be unwatched,” Yan replied. “I explained this.”

Explaining might be generous. Something to do with Anakin’s nightmares, with the Republic hunting down Jedi. She didn’t understand how it worked, but the thought of Anakin’s repeated dreams having consequences worse than lost sleep made her ill. Why did the Jedi have to attract such trouble?

“I know that,” she snapped. Then she clasped her hands and shook her head. “But I do not think it’s a good idea to expose Anakin to an army of battle droids after what he’s been through.”

But she had hoped to keep Anakin far, far away from any place battle droids might be regardless of who might be controlling them. After Naboo. After what happened to his people. But Yan was steel-faced as he held his hands behind his back, his black cape falling forward in elegant lines. “It is necessary if I am to continue protecting him as Obi-Wan asked. His comfort comes second to his safety; you understand."

“I understand, but I don't like it. I lack your durasteel heart, brother.”

He raised one eyebrow. “I’m certain Skywalker would assert mine is hard enough for the both of us. But Anakin is going to see battle droids everywhere soon enough. It is better for him to master his fears now.”

He wasn’t wrong. It was cold, but she supposed that kind of resolve came from years as a Jedi, face to face with the Republic’s corruption.

“Be patient with him. He’s trying.”

Her brother’s face darkened with a scowl. “Jenza, I raised two padawans, I can deal with Skywalker for a week.”

She gave him a dry look. “Yan, if I hadn’t met you when we were children, I wouldn’t believe you had ever been a child. But no matter.” She reached out and straightened his collar even though it stood perfectly already. “Be safe.” 

He smiled and climbed to the top of the ramp, where he paused for a moment and looked back out into the hangar as if looking for something. Jenza raised a hand in farewell, and then they were gone.

***

The corners of the hangar cloaked Depa in shadow with loving familiarity as she stood in against the wall in the wee hours of the morning. 

The usual bustle of the private hangar was minimal this early, just a few droids and the late night attendants. None so far seemed to have noticed her.

She should have been on her way back to Lothal by now. The Jedi were protected, Amidala’s legal protections underway, the survivors’ location still a secret. She had everything she had come for. But unease that had been plaguing her since she left Lothal had only gotten worse. She could not leave yet.

Lady Jenza and Skywalker entered the hangar, the boy carrying a bag over one shoulder. At the foot of the sun sailor’s ramp, the Chosen One stopped and spoke to Jenza. The lady smiled and crouched to hug him goodbye. A nervous cloud hung over the boy, the Force uncertain around him, and she remembered why the Council had been resistant to his training. He was a walking shatterpoint, and the future was even more fraught now than it had been when Qui-Gon found the boy. 

Dooku strode into the hangar, interrupting Jenza and Anakin’s goodbye. Depa retreated deeper into the shadows where he would not sense her watching. Something wasn’t right about the count. His shields were impeccable, his promises full of lofty ideals, but the way the Dark Side sang as he spoke of war made her uneasy. Depa didn’t want to believe one of her own order--one who had sat on the counsel, had been raised by Yoda--could stray so quickly. But the last few months could have broken the strongest soul. The Jedi had been betrayed before by men corrupted by power and fear, and they could not afford to be wrong again. 

She needed to speak with Kenobi. He had been raised by a maverick and was beset with defiance and doubt, but he had been a good Jedi, one even Yoda was proud to claim in his lineage. He had killed a Sith. But if he had fallen under Dooku’s sway, and his grandmaster strayed, then his path and Anakin’s were in danger, and she could not abandon her fellow Jedi to that.

Skywalker reluctantly left Jenza’s embrace and trudged up the ramp into the ship, and the Dooku siblings exchanged a few words before the count strode up the ramp. At the top, he paused and scanned the hangar. Not moving, Depa trusted in her shields and in the Force and stared back. Dooku narrowed his eyes as he glared in her direction, and the Force tensed for a moment as if with electricity. Then it stilled, and the count climbed into his ship.

The Jedi Master waited until the sun sailor was well past the twilight atmosphere. Then she broke from her hiding place, and a moment later, she was gone too. 

***

When Obi-Wan made it back to _The Revenant_ , sweating and breathing hard from the hike, there was a recorded message waiting on the comm. He dropped into the pilot’s seat and hit the console.

Anakin's face flickered above the comm, the boy rubbing at one bleary eye. “Hi Obi-Wan. I know I’m not supposed to call you when you’re on a mission, but Jenza said it was okay. Where are you? We’re going to Geonosis to look at the army Dooku bought. Or the Separatists bought. I don’t know. It’s kind of confusing. But I thought you’d want to know since I won’t be here when you get back--”

Dooku’s voice came from somewhere off holo. “Skywalker. Turn that off and take a seat.”

Anakin grimaced and ducked closer to the comm. “Uh-oh, gotta go. See ya soon, master.”

The holo message ended, but the memory of the accusing “where are you?” rang in his head. Obi-Wan bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dreams passed in time. That’s what Yoda had always told him, when he was a youngling seized with visions in the middle of the night. Dreams of burning and falling and a desert sun. The words had been a comfort to him then, but they did not comfort him now.

So he wiped his brow on his wrist, set course for Geonosis, and set Avee on the copilot’s seat.

“I’ll see you soon, padawan.” He set Avee on the co-pilot’s seat to reboot and retreated to the back of the cockpit to meditate, where he spent most of the trip trying to sort through the visions, parse those terrible things he had seen. It had all been a dream—the Dooku who talked of falling like it was an inevitability, the Dooku who shot lightning from his hands. The Anakin with Maul’s eyes howling the same gut-wrenching hatred. The cursed castle had just twisted his own fears back on himself. There was nothing to fear.

But he couldn’t shake the cold dread in his stomach.

***

Anakin didn’t want to go to Geonosis to look at some dumb battle droids, but complaining wouldn’t get him what he wanted. It did with Obi-Wan sometimes—he could complain about his feet hurting and get a piggyback ride, complain about his stomach hurting and get an extra portion at dinner. But Dooku was as relenting as a durasteel beam, and Anakin was tired. Hyperspace hummed around them, rumbled in his bones, and it was making him sleepier.

The count sat across the cockpit, cold as space and reading something that made him scowl. Anakin wasn’t sure why Dooku had taken the job running the Separatists if he was going to be mad about it all the time, but the padawan wasn’t about to ask. Instead he fiddled with the memory core Obi-Wan had given him. After days of work, he’d finally gotten all the bits of data wrung out of it and typed up into a data pad.

“Your master will not find your work any more satisfactory by your staring at it.” Dooku wasn’t even looking at him. Just working away and still somehow able to read Anakin’s mind.

Anakin took a slow breath. Jenza had asked him to be patient. To be _good_. Fighting with his great-grandmaster two hours into hyperspace didn’t seem like it fit either request.

“I’m trying to put the pieces together, but I don’t know what any of these things are.”

Dooku exhaled through his nose, lowered his own datapad and held out a hand. Anakin didn’t like how the count just expected things. It was rude. But saying so would break his promise to Jenza, so he reluctantly handed his pad over. Dooku scrolled through it with a disinterested expression. “Ord Mantell… Fifty thousand credits... Watt Tambor… Sallust… Five thousand credits... Kamino—“ He frowned at the datapad then at Anakin like the patchy data was his fault. “What is this?”

Anakin raised his shoulders. “It’s off the droid Obi-Wan blew up on. The one that hired the bounty hunters.”

“Interesting.” Dooku handed the datapad back. “They’re a list of jobs and targets, clearly.”

Anakin didn’t think there was much clear about it. He’d seen shipments of spare parts that made more sense. He stared at Dooku, waiting for the explanation. The count sniffed. “It was a middle man for unscrupulous bounty hunters and self-destructed as soon as it was threatened. Obviously, it was protecting its clients. But I doubt there will be anything of use to Obi-Wan, so I suggest you get some sleep before we reach Geonosis. We have serious business to attend to, and I won’t have you nodding off in front of our allies.”

Anakin hated to admit that Dooku was right, but as the sun sailor set down outside the capital hive, Anakin was glad he’d gotten some sleep. Geonosis was hot and dry just like Tatooine, and the gaggle of politicians waiting for them as they disembarked meant Anakin was going to be bored this entire trip. At least he wasn’t cold. The sun beat down on the tall, twisting rock formations and was already making him sweat, and he had to squint against the harsh light until Poggle led them inside. He hadn’t thought planets with one sun got this hot. 

The inside of the hive--or city, he wasn’t sure what to call it--was much cooler. There were Geonosians everywhere, some hanging from the tall ceilings, others flying back and forth. Dooku walked with Poggle and a few other Geonosians, and Anakin trailed behind. Nobody paid much mind to the count’s ward, so he was free to look at everything as long as he kept his hands to himself. And there was so much to look at. The people going back and forth. It was strange that for a people that made and sold droid armies, there weren’t any maintenance droids or protocol units rolling around.

He missed Threepio. He missed his mom. Would Jango Fett have found her by the time he got home? He hoped so. He really missed her.

After walking for what felt like forever, Poggle led them to a balcony overlooking a great barren plane and gestured with his staff as he said something in his clicking language that sounded proud. Dooku steeped to the railing, and Anakin followed, standing tiptoe to peer at the planes. Once his eyes adjusted to Great spherical space stations nestled in the ground, surrounded on all sides by gunships and tanks and rows and after perfect row battle droids. They glinted with newness in the harsh sunlight, and not even the dust clouds rolling across the ground disguised how many there were. Thousands. Maybe millions. One for every star in the sky.

Anakin shuddered. He’d seen lots of battle droids before. Some new, some cut down to parts by Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. He’d been shot at more times than he could count, but he’d never seen more than a dozen battle bots at a time. This was too many. This was what war looked like.

There was a rumbling deep below the earth, a steady, rhythmic shaking. As his stomach flip-flopped, Anakin gripped the railing a little tighter. The ground wasn’t supposed to shake. What were they doing under this city?

Anakin felt his head spin, and he shut his eyes. Vertigo. He wanted Obi-Wan here. He wanted to hide and hear his master say it would be all right. Anakin thought about reaching for Dooku’s hand but kept his own clenched at his side. Nobody was going to hold his hand here. He had to be brave. So he squished his fear down deep and tried not to be sick.

Dooku rested his knuckles on the railing and leaned forward, studying the army with an intent spark in his eyes. He didn’t seem to have noticed the shaking. “Remarkable, aren’t they?” 

Anakin clamped his mouth shut. Obi-Wan better hurry up and get here soon.

***

Shmi glanced again at the Mandalorian piloting the ship. He sat behind the controls, and she sat in the copilot seat where she’d been waiting quietly since they left Tatooine. It had been a short jump in hyperspace, which meant they couldn't even have left the sector yet. She wished she had a holomap.

Jango leaned across the control board and flipped a few switches. “All right, we’re coming in.” He’d been quiet but not unkind, only talking when necessary, and she had been happy to pass the space flight in silence. 

The Mandalorian had come into the shop one day while she was cleaning and sorting parts, and he’d walked straight up to her, asked her for her name. Then he’d asked for Watto, and the two of them stood haggling her price of sale long enough for her to finish sorting. Watto was still sore over losing Anakin to the Jedi and tried to refuse, but Jango offered enough to buy three new slaves, and the Toydarian told her to pack her bag and take the protocol droid with her. 

So she and Threepio followed the Mandalorian out of town to his ship where he’d informed them that he would be delivering them to their new master on the other side of the galaxy. She’d never heard of anyone who bought a single slave from all the way across the galaxy, but there was a first time for everything. Jango certainly hadn't been interested in providing more information, so when Threepio wouldn’t stop asking questions, he’d pushed the droid into a locker and told her to take a seat while he made a series of clipped calls. He'd left her alone since they jumped to hyperspace a few hours ago.

She hoped wherever Anakin was, he was having an easier time. Because he was out there. Even with all the terrible rumors that had reached Tatooine about the traitor Jedi and the droid armies and the murders, her son had to be alive. She would have known if he had died. Somehow, she would have known. It was a small comfort, knowing he was out there somewhere, even as the worry ate at her from the inside out. Was he safe? Was he loved? 

"Coming in." 

Jango's voice shook Shmi from her thoughts. The Mandalorian flipped a few switches on the control board and they dropped out of hyperspace with a jolt. She hadn’t flown in so long, every stop felt sharper than it was. 

A brown and gold planet hung in the viewport. For a moment she thought he had brought her back to Tatooine. But as they drew closer, she could see the planet was much rockier and less sandy than her old home. Would her new master be as heartless as their home looked?

Jango prepped the ship for landing, flipping switches and toggling lights like it was second nature. "Welcome to Geonosis. Client's waiting planetside."

Seemed she'd find out soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in the Part 1 endgame now, folks! Thank you all for reading this far and for the awesome reviews and kudos. <3
> 
> At long last, some Shmi content as promised!! Wasn't expecting there to be stealth The Mandalorian fanfic in this story, but here we are. I hope you're all as excited to see her as I am.


	15. The Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shmi reunites with her son, but Anakin is far from safe. Depa uncovers more of Dooku's plans.

The ramp to the ship lowered, and a wave of familiar afternoon heat rolled up and over Shmi. She raised a hand to protect her face, and the wave passed. It was good to be on solid ground again. She and Threepio followed Jango off the ship onto a narrow landing platform attached to the face of a tower rock formation. “If you don’t mind my asking, sir bounty hunter, where exactly are we?” asked Threepio. 

“I do mind.” He was looking up the platform, where a tall, elderly man in black was striding toward them. “You have questions, you ask him.”

Shmi thought a woman had hired Jango. Maybe she’d been mistaken. This stranger looked regal and dour, and on Tatooine at least that meant no patience for anyone they considered beneath them. He was certainly tall enough to look down his nose at her, and something in the pit of her stomach told her he would make a terrible master. But she would keep such thoughts to herself until she knew why she was here. As he drew closer, she steeled herself for a most unpleasant encounter. But he stopped short at the edge of the landing platform, and a satellite broke off from behind him. A boy, small and blonde and—

“Mom!” Anakin, sprinting towards her with his arms out. “Mom!” 

All the breath stolen from her, Shmi dropped her bag and caught him in a tight hug. Her son. Alive. Alive. She held him tighter, and the fears she’d refused to admit even to herself dissolved like dew under a morning sun. Anakin was here. 

He buried his face in her shoulder, and his voice was thick with tears as he murmured in Huttese. “I missed you so much, Mom. I love you. I love you.”

“I love you, Anakin,” she murmured back. “I’m so glad to see you.” 

Her son drew back to arm’s length and grinned with the light of a dozen suns. He looked healthy, well-fed, dressed in clothes finer than any she’d seen in her life. “Yeah, it was crazy after we left Tatooine, but Obi-Wan kept us safe.” 

“Obi-Wan?” She glanced over her son’s head at the elderly man who ignored them and watched Jango instead, and the Mandalorian was eying him warily. 

Anakin shook his head and answered in Huttese again. “No, that’s Dooku. He’s Obi-Wan’s grandmaster.”

“Grandmaster? What happened to Qui-Gon?”

Anakin’s smile faded. “He died.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry, Ani.” 

Her son nodded. “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re here now. And you’re free and you brought Threepio, hi, Threepio--”

The man—Dooku—interrupted in Basic. “Anakin.”

Her son looked over his shoulder like he’d forgotten he was there. 

“Take your mother inside. I have business with Mr. Fett.”

Anakin narrowed his eyes, and Dooku stared impassively back like they were locked in some battle of wills. Shmi felt a flash of fear for her son, but then her son grabbed her bag from where she’d dropped it, took her hand, and tugged her toward the stone city. He smiled at her. “Come on, I’ll show you where we’re staying. I have so much to tell you: I’ve been all over the place, and there was this big old battleship that I blew up, and—“

Shmi allowed Ani to lead her inside where it was dim and cool, and he clung to her hand as he walked with confidence through the twisting halls. “I can’t wait for you to meet Obi-Wan and Jenza. They’re nice, but they’re on Raxus right now helping with the new government. Dooku can be a jerk, but Obi-Wan says he’s okay, so he’s not the worst. I built a new droid, Threepio. I fixed her up too, but she’s helping Obi-Wan because I couldn’t go with because it was too dangerous--”

“Anakin.”

He stopped and looked up into her face expectantly. “Yeah, Mom?” 

She glanced around, but none of the Geonosian seemed to be paying them any attention. So she held his hand a little tighter. So much had happened, and as glad as she was to see him safe, she couldn’t shake the terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Anakin. Are we really free?”

Anakin looked surprised then squeezed her hand tight. “Both of us. Once we get back to Serenno, we’ll get your tracker out, and it’ll be real forever.”

Free. Shmi’s breath hitched in her throat. Free at last. But Anakin’s face fell. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back for you. We were running for so long, and Obi-Wan said it was too dangerous and—“

“No, Ani.” She bent down and cradled his face in her hands. “We are together again. Free together. What happened in the past does not matter.”

He smiled, tearing up. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

He took a deep breath as if trying to steady himself, something she’d never seen him do before, and his smile widened. “Come on. I have so much to tell you.” 

And he led her deeper into the cavernous city, hand in hand like he meant never to let go again. 

***

Depa watched from high on the cliffs as Anakin greeted the unknown woman with such enthusiasm that he must have known her. He seemed loath to release her from a hug but eventually settled for holding her hand as he led her back inside, leaving Dooku and the bounty hunter standing on the landing platform. They both stood as if waiting for the other to make the first move, ancient enemies, former Jedi and Mandalorian. 

Then Dooku seemed to be saying something, and the Mandalorian relaxed then nodded, and the two of them entered the hive. Depa frowned. What business was Dooku conducting with a bounty hunter? 

She marked their direction and stole through the hive, dodging patrols and civilians. She wasn’t trespassing per se, and a few other non-Geonosians were roaming the halls, but she preferred to not answer any questions. 

She rounded a corner, and the Force jolted in a warning. There was a glint off the Mandalorian’s beskar armor, and she jerked back behind the wall and pressed against the cool stone. Her lightsaber was heavy in her hand but not lit. Had they seen her? She could hear Dooku’s voice echoing around the corner, his boots clicking on the stone floors with deliberate pacing. “...have rendered my sister a great service. I assume the woman wasn’t difficult to find?” 

“It was a job.” The Mandalorian’s voice was muffled by his helmet, short and terse. 

“Indeed. Would you ever consider an offer of long-term employment?”

“Long-term contract? It’d have to pay well.”

“For this job, money is no object. I’ve recently learned about an interesting operation that may have the ability to cement my government’s hold on the Outer Rim, and I require a skilled warrior for its success.” 

“I don’t care about politics, _Jedi_.”

“Oh, I assure you, I have not been a Jedi for a very long time.” There was a smile to his voice that made Depa’s stomach turn. “And I am willing to put aside our old enmity for the galaxy’s greater good.” 

A pause. “So what, you want somebody dead?”

Dooku laughed dryly. “Assassinations are short-term solutions; I have something with a little more vision in mind. Are you familiar with the Kamino system?”

Another pause. Depa has never heard of such a place, but it was a big galaxy. She’d have to ask Jocasta to sift through the holocron records when she returned to Lothal. If she returned to Lothal. She leaned in the stone.

“Cloners.” Metal and cloth moved as Jango shifted. He was uneasy. Angry. “You’re trying to replace someone.”

“These droids, in particular. They will show the Republic that we are a force to be reckoned with, but we will be equally matched, and a war of endless escalation will only fuel the corruption I am trying to stamp out.”

“So you need a clone army?” 

Depa caught her breath. An army of slaves, men made only for war and duty and death. Dooku really was lost.

“Indeed. We need thinking soldiers, not mindless machines. And you are a formidable warrior. With you as the template, I believe we could be unstoppable.” 

A long pause. Depa wanted to will the Mandalorian to say no, to walk away, but he was beyond her reach.

“And if I say no?”

“Regrettable. But there are others in this galaxy who would suffice.” 

“Like your Jedi brat?”

“No.” A pause, then the clicking of boots began again at a deliberate pace. “No, I have other plans for him.”

“Really? Because I could kill you right now.”

“You could certainly try. But better men than you have failed to do that. But perhaps another target. A trial run to show that you’d make an adequate template.” 

“Another target?”

The Force twisted in warning. Depa took a step back. She had stayed too long.

“Yes. The Jedi master listening around the corner.” 

Depa ignited her lightsaber and backed up, trying to get space. Jango was around the corner in an instant, helmet on, blasters out. She threw out her hand, shoving him back a pace, but he fired off a quick volley. Her lightsaber flashed. One of the shots ricocheted off his pauldron, and he dove to one side. 

“Dooku!” Depa’s voice rang off the stone walls. “Stop this. You have an army already. You don’t need one made of blood.”

A line shot from Jango’s gauntlet. She sprang back, but it lashed around her leg and went taught, biting through her pant leg and knocking her onto her back. A flick of her wrist cut her free, and she rolled back to her feet in a low fighting stance, saber at the ready. She could handle the Mandalorian or Dooku. But not both. “The Republic will negotiate.”

Dooku came around the corner, keeping the Mandalorian between himself and the Jedi master. “There can be no peace with the Republic.” He sliced the air with his hand. “I have foreseen what Valorum’s puppet master will do this galaxy, and I will not allow your Jedi’s squeamishness to stop me from saving it. The Republic’s bloated, rotten corpse must be burned, and a new galaxy built from its ashes.”

“With an army of slaves for the kindling? Do not go down this path, Dooku. Once you do, you will regret it forever.”

His lip curled back in a sneer, and the dark burned in him like it would never go out. Gone was the Jedi, the master she had replaced. Now there was only cold, ruthless rage leering at her from a death’s head, and he advanced on her one slow step at a time. She held her ground, weapon singing. How blind they had been. 

Dooku took another step toward her, and his shadow stretched across the ground, reaching for her. “My only regret, Master Billaba, is that I did not run my saber through Valorum’s heart the final time I saw him.” 

“Then you are lost.” She caught Jango’s left pistol with the Force and shoved his arm sideways, turning on her heel and disappearing into the twisting cave passages. Jango got two shots off with his other pistol, but both hit the stone where she had been because Depa was already rounding the next corner. She had to make it back to her ship. She had to warn Mace and the others. The Sith were not dead yet. 

Dooku’s voice boomed through the hive’s halls. “I want her alive. Do not let her get away.”

It would be Jedi versus Mandalorian after all. 

Depa ran. 

*** 

Obi-Wan had never been fond of desert planets. There was something unspeakably lonely about them that settled in his chest whenever he looked out over their horizon. Fortunately, he didn’t plan to be on Geonosis very long. As soon as he had spoken with Dooku about the visions on Mustafar, he and Anakin would be back on Serenno and back on the trail of the Sith lord. Back to Anakin's training that he’d neglected for too long. 

Obi-Wan set _The Revenant_ down just outside the capital hive. Two Geonosian guards came to detain him, suspicious of outsiders, but he raised his hands peaceably. “I am Obi-Wan Kenobi, and I am here to speak with Count Dooku. I am expected.”

They commed away then gestured for him to follow, leading into the hive city on a circuitous route he felt certain was meant to confuse him. These were technically allies of the Separatists, business partners, so why did he feel like he was walking into a trap? Maybe his paranoia was unfounded. But it had kept him alive this long, and he could not dismiss it until he had confronted Dooku about the visions. 

The Force pulled at him, drawing his attention somewhere higher in the city. Anakin. He glanced at the guards, slowed his step, and when they rounded a corner, he darted into a side passage. Then he followed his bond with Anakin through the hive, dodging civilians and patrols, until he reached what looked like guest quarters, and he could sense his padawan inside. 

***

Shmi sat on the couch while Anakin showed her the Jedi skills he’d acquired in the past few months. He was holding a golden ball in the air without touching it, moving it back and forth around the room like some magician’s trick. But this was very real. The Force, Anakin explained. Qui-Gon has kept his promise after all.

Anakin moved the ball in a series of tight circles “And then Obi-Wan kicked a lot of _sleemo_ bounty hunter backside. He said that I was so bright that he could have found me from a whole planet away.” 

Shmi smiled. “You seem very fond of this Obi-Wan.” 

“He’s grumpy sometimes, but he’s cool too. A lot cooler than Dooku.”

Dooku, it seemed, was not fond of Anakin at all, and had few reservations about telling him so. Shmi was glad he was only part of their new household and not their master. Even though Anakin had explained a few times, she still wasn’t sure how her son had stumbled from Tatooine into galactic politics. Perhaps it was a Jedi trait, and not one she was getting any fonder of. She had some serious questions for this Obi-Wan. 

Then the door slid open, and Anakin swiveled his head toward the dark-robed young man who had entered. He stood not much taller than her, but he walked with the easy stride of a predator and the air quivered around him ever so slightly. 

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin leaped off the chair and ran to the man’s side, catching his hand and dragging him further into the room. “You made it!”

So this was Qui-Gon’s apprentice. He was much shorter, less broad, much younger than she’d expected, but there was something in his presence that reminded her of the other Jedi. He glanced from Anakin to Shmi with curiosity flickering in his face, but Anakin was on him the next moment, dragging him toward the living space. Obi-Wan allowed himself to be led and exhaled almost like he was relieved to see the boy. “Did you doubt it?”

“Nah.” Anakin grinned back. “But come on, I want you to meet my mom.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened as he looked to Shmi, and beneath his beard flushed red. Guilt. But he cleared his throat and bowed deeply. “Miss Skywalker. It’s an honor to meet you.”

She folded her hands in front of her and nodded. “Mister Kenobi. Anakin tells me you’ve been looking after him.”

“Obi-Wan, please.” He shifted his weight to one foot and folded his arms, confidence gone. “And yes, though not as well as I should have. A lot has changed since you allowed Anakin to come with us, and not for the better.”

“My son is alive, and you have been kind to him. I cannot ask for anything more than that.”

Obi-Wan relaxed slightly, but Anakin tugged on his sleeve. “Where’s Avee?”

”Ah.” He broke eye contact with the younger boy. “She’s waiting on my ship. The trip was hard on her.”

”Did you break—“ Anakin froze mid sentence, staring into the distance again like he used to sometimes on Tatooine before a particularly bad dust storm would hit. A cold feeling settled in her stomach, and Shmi touched his shoulder gently to ground him and to let him know she would be there when he came back, and he shook himself and looked up to her with wide eyes. “Something happened.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out a small metal cube, worn smooth on all sides by touch. It seemed to bring him some comfort. 

“Something bad?” she prompted. 

He turned the cube over in his hands and looked to Obi-Wan, who nodded but didn’t move to comfort Anakin. “I sensed it as well. It almost felt like…” He frowned and closed his eyes for a moment before they flew open. “Anakin, is there another Jedi here?”

Anakin’s eyes widened. “I think it was Master Billaba.”

“Master Billaba?” 

Anakin nodded, and some of the color came back to his face. “She found us on Raxus. She was negotiating some kind of Jedi deal with Dooku before we came here. I thought she had stayed behind, but I think she’s in trouble.”

The Jedi’s face hardened. “Ma’am, I need you to stay here with Anakin. It will be safer.”

“What? No.” Anakin clenched his fists. “I’m coming with you.”

“No.”

“But I can help.”

“Yes, you can.” Obi-Wan folded his arms. “You can stay here and protect your mother. I need to find Master Billaba.”

So her first impression of Dooku had been right. Anakin scowled. “I knew it. What did he do? Jenza is gonna be so mad.”

“I don’t know what he’s up to, but I don’t want you going near him until we’ve found--” Obi-Wan swiveled toward the door. “Dooku.”

Shmi’s heart leaped into her throat, but Obi-Wan darted to the door and pressed himself against the wall, and he seemed to blend into the shadows. Anakin started. “Obi-Wan, what are you--”

The Jedi held his finger to his lips, and Anakin fell silent and turned back to Shmi like nothing had happened. Then the door chimed, and in strode Dooku. 

He looked imperiously around the room, but he hadn’t seemed to notice Obi-Wan yet. Shmi forced a polite smile to her face, the kind she’d used to placate difficult customers and Watto on his harsher days. Dooku nodded stiffly in greeting. “Skywalker. Have you heard from your master yet?” 

Anakin shook his head. “No. I came to collect you for a tour of the droid factory while your mother rests.” 

Behind him, Obi-Wan stole to the kitchen. Unnoticed. 

Anakin set his jaw. “I want to stay with my mom.” 

Dooku frowned. “What you want has very little bearing on the matter. The Archduke invited you specifically because of your… fascination with machines, and you _will_ attend.” Then he smiled, turning his attention to Shmi, but she could tell there was no warmth in it. “Besides, Madam Skywalker, I imagine you have been through quite an ordeal. I will take Anakin off your hands for a few hours.” 

Obi-Wan took a step forward, the shadows peeling from him as he emerged into the light, but Anakin held up both his hands. “Wait!”

Dooku raised an eyebrow. “Wait?”

Anakin turned back to Shmi, and his voice was firm and clear as he said, “I’ll be okay. You have important things to do."

Obi-Wan's face was drawn, but he stayed where he was and out of Dooku's line of sight. Shmi put a hand on her son’s shoulder “Are you certain?” If Dooku had gone wrong enough to unnerve a Jedi, the last thing she wanted was to let Anakin go with him.

But he nodded “I’m sure.” 

The count made a dismissive noise in his throat. "If you're quite finished with the theatrics, young Skywalker, we are late." He turned on his heel, cape snapping, clearly expecting Anakin to follow him. Anakin murmured something rude under his breath in Huttese then glanced to the kitchen. Obi-Wan stood in the shadows, watching closely, and Anakin waited for direction. For permission. The Jedi hesitated then nodded once, and Anakin trotted after Dooku. At the door, he stopped and waved to Shmi. “I’ll be back soon.”

She waved back then wrapped her arms around herself. “I will be here when you return.” 

He smiled, and then they were gone. As soon as the door closed, Obi-Wan emerged from the shadows with a serious expression. 

“Will he be all right?” She couldn’t shake the ill feeling in her stomach. 

“He’ll be fine. We must find Master Billaba, quickly.”

Shmi had lived long enough to know when people were lying to be kind. She had done enough of it herself to see it in Obi-Wan now. Fear for her son gripped her heart, but Anakin had made a choice to let Obi-Wan help this other Jedi. She just hoped she would have the chance to be angry with him later. 

***

The Force led them to the prison level, one of the lowest in the hive city before the cavernous foundries. Below they could hear the chugging machinery, the faint heat of grinding gears and molten durasteel. Somewhere down there was Anakin. Obi-Wan already regretted letting his padawan go with Dooku when they didn’t know if the count could be trusted. He couldn’t shake the unease that gripped him, but he couldn’t change it. He had to focus on what he could do in this moment, on finding Master Billaba. If Anakin was in danger, Obi-Wan would need her help against Dooku. 

He had to trust that his padawan would be all right.

Obi-Wan glanced around the corner. Two guards watching one cell. He looked back to Shmi and gestured for her to stay. She nodded and crouched. Shmi had sent her droid--an anxious protocol unit called C3PO--to _The Revenant_. In case they needed to get away quickly once they got the Jedi and Anakin, she said. Even as she worried about her son, her presence was steady and determined. A latent Force sensitivity maybe, tempered by a hard life that lined her face and greyed her hair. Small wonder Anakin was the way he was. 

Steeling himself, Obi-Wan rounded the corner with an easy gait and approached the guards. “The count sent me to speak to the prisoner.”

The insectoid guard nodded and opened the door. He hadn’t even needed to use the Force suggestion he’d planned to try. Obi-Wan stepped inside, and as the door hissed closed behind him, the Force cried a warning just as something cracked into his chin. He rolled with the hit and still hit the far wall hard, fists coming up to guard against the next shot. 

Depa Billaba stood in a fighting stance, ready to swing again. She was sharper than he remembered, a bruise across her cheekbone, her robes showing the hard wear of travel and battle that he knew well. However Dooku had captured her, it couldn't have been an easy fight. Recognition flicked in her eyes, but she kept her fists raised. 

Jaw smarting, Obi-Wan held up his hands. “Master Billaba?”

“Kenobi. Did your master send you to question me?” Her anger emanated in the Force, very like Mace Windu the few times Obi-Wan had witnessed him using Vapaad. He couldn't blame her.

“No. I’m here to rescue you, actually.” 

She narrowed her eyes, and the next moment she had him shoved against the wall, her elbow at his throat. He held still, waiting. 

“He sent you to find out where the survivors are." Her voice was sharp. "I lead you to them, and you call Dooku and his clone army to finish the job the droids couldn’t.” 

“Survivors?” An unfamiliar thrill of hope ran through him like an electric shock. “I was afraid we were the last ones.”

“Don’t lie to me, Obi-Wan. I know Dooku’s fallen, and I know you’ve been training with him, so what does that make you?”

Fallen. Obi-Wan shut his eyes tight. So the vision had been true, and he was too late. His grandmaster had been falling right under his nose, and he had been too blind and desperate to see it. All those months hiding from the Sith, and he’d sent Anakin right into the Dark Side’s arm 

“I didn’t know.” He raised his chin to alleviate some of the pressure on this airway. “I should have seen it. I should have stopped it, but I didn’t. I will face my failure, master, but I need your help to rescue my padawan.” 

Depa narrowed her eyes, and there was a sharp rap on his shields, which he eased down. The strength of her presence washed over him like a flood, Light pushing back a darkness he didn’t realize he’d been carrying. How deep had Mustafar sunk its claws into him? She scrutinized him for a moment then stepped back and let him curl forward to catch his breath. “I believe you. I'm sorry; I had to be sure.”

“You were right. I am… I am glad to see you alive. Who else--”

"Not here, Kenobi. Not where Dooku might have ears."

She was right. It was too dangerous. He straightened and forced a smile. “So what’s this about a clone army?”

“I’ll explain on the way. Where is your padawan?”

“Dooku took him down into the droid foundries.”

Determination like steel entered her face. ”He has my lightsaber as well.”

“At least we only have to make one stop."

"Dooku has a bounty hunter in his employ now. A Mandaloian called Jango Fett."

That wasn't good. That must have been how Dooku managed to capture a swordsman as good as Master Billaba. By cheating. Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair and released his mounting anxiety to the Force. "One... one problem at a time. Let’s get you out of this cell.”

She glanced at the closed door. “I’m assuming you don’t have a plan?”

“Not really.”

“I see. So it’s going to be one of those missions.”

“Afraid so.” Obi-Wan gripped her upper arm and pulled her toward the door, hoping he could make it past the guards a second time. 

“We should hurry. I have some _words_ for your grandmaster.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched the last third of Attack of the Clones maybe four times and dug through a lot of panels from the Jango Fett comics and the Obi-Wan and Anakin comic for this chapter. 
> 
> Canon can pry subtly Force sensitive Shmi from my cold, dead clutches. I just want her to be happy. 
> 
> It was fun to let Depa be the one to stumble into a plot and have the enemies tension with Jango that Mace has in AotC. I'm very excited for the next chapter to have all these characters in one place finally. Thanks for reading!


	16. The Schism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Master and Knight, Master and Padawan, Master and Apprentice--two will always be stronger, and Dooku draws a line in the sand.

Obi-wan dragged Depa from the cell, gripping her upper arm like he was trying to reassure himself she wouldn’t vanish. She sent him a thought of reassurance, and he glanced at her but didn’t break his stern expression.

As they left the prison, the guards raised their weapons, and Obi-Wan held up his free hand. “I am taking the prisoner to speak with the Count per his request.”

The guards answered, and it sounded angry. Obi-Wan pulled a commlink from his belt and held the readout to them. “I understand you have orders, as do I.  Shall  I bother the count and the Archduke to confirm?  I believe  they are  just  on a tour of the CIS’ new army now, so they would be in the same place to hear about your dogged adherence to protocol.”

With an angry click, the guards allowed them to pass. Obi-Wan held tight to Depa’s arm until they were well around the corner and out of sight. Then he relaxed and pulled his hand away. “I’m sorry.”

She rolled her shoulder. Fine. “Impressive performance. Though as Council member, I am duty bound to remind you of the dangers of deception.”

He faltered then grinned. "Of course, master."

A shadow caught her eye and she wiped toward it.  A woman with dark hair and a tired, determined expression emerged from a cleft in the rock wall, and Obi-Wan reached a hand out to her. “Are you all right?”

When she nodded, he looked back to Depa. “Shmi, this is Jedi Master Depa Billaba. Master Billaba, this is Shmi Skywalker.”

That was why she seemed familiar. Her Force signature mirrored her son's, though more like a candle than a supernova. Depa kept the surprise from her face and offered a kind nod instead. “We’re going to get your son back.”

Shmi nodded. “I know.”

It was too dangerous to send her back to the ship. She’d most certainly be caught, and they could not afford a delay getting out of the city once they had young Skywalker back. Something told Depa it would be a close thing as it was. “Stay close.”

Obi-Wan pulled out his commlink and called _The Revenant_. “C3PO, are you there? C3PO.”

A tiny voice responded. “This is C3PO, human-cyborg relations. Who is speaking?”

“C3PO, bring the ship around to the lowest landing platform in the city and wait for us there—“

“Sir, I am a protocol droid. I am not designed to  fly  a ship—“

“We don't have time for your quibbles. We need—-“

Shmi grabbed the commlink from his hand. “Threepio, you must bring the ship to the lowest level. Please.”

“Mistress Shmi. At once, though I am  not certain  of my ability—"

"You'll do fine."

Then the three of them stole deeper into the city into the sweltering, groaning foundries below.

***

Anakin trailed behind Dooku as Poggle showed them around the factory. There was more machinery here than he’d ever seen in his life. Battle droids half-made, and the loudest clanging he’d ever heard in his life. He could hardly hear himself think. It was hot down here too, like an oven.

They stopped on a balcony overlooking the melting vats where steel ingots as big as ships  were melted  into burning, bubbling liquid  . Anakin turned his face away from the heat and the light. liked droids, and seeing how they got made should have been interesting, but he hated this. They weren’t like Threepio or Avee that helped and fixed.  They were for killing, and the only difference between them and the droids that had killed the Jedi and hunted him and Obi-Wan was who was holding the remote.

Even worse, he was stuck following Dooku around. Obi-Wan seemed to think the old Jedi had done something wrong,  maybe  because of the cry of danger in the Force.  Anakin didn’t know why Master Billaba had followed them here, but she had been nice to him in Raxus, nicer than she had been when he was in front of the Council. If Dooku had done something to her, that had to be bad. But he had trained Obi-Wan, taught Anakin how to hide, and he worked with Jenza and Padme to stop the Republic. Someone bad couldn’t do all that, could they? Unless Jenza and Padme were bad too. That thought made him sick. He didn’t know what to think.

“Skywalker.” Dooku’s voice cut into his thoughts. He’d been thinking so hard the others had left him behind. Anakin yanked his shields closer and ran to catch up. How much of that had Dooku heard? He fell into step at the count’s heels. The count looked straight ahead but spoke down to Anakin. “Be mindful of your thoughts, Anakin. They will betray you.”

“I— uh—”

Dooku frowned.  “Your master has made a grave miscalculation, and when he returns, the three of us are going to have a _discussion_ about his foolishness.”

“You’re wrong. Obi-Wan doesn’t make mistakes,” Anakin blurted. He knew. Runaways who made mistakes got caught. They died. And they weren’t dead yet.

Dooku laughed at him.  “I had thought your life would have cured you of the idealism of youth, but have no fear, Skywalker, we will discuss your place in this as well.”

Anakin hunched his shoulders and looked away. He didn’t like the sound of that at all.

A pulse of reassurance washed over him, and he snapped his head up to look at Dooku, but the count was ignoring him again, looking out over the pouring molten steel instead. No. Obi-Wan. Anakin whipped his head toward the honeycombed walls of the factory but couldn’t find the Jedi.

A moment later, Obi-Wan emerged from a shadowed alcove and approached at a normal speed, and Anakin let out a long breath. Obi-Wan had come for him. Everything was going to be okay after all.

The party stopped, waited for him to catch up. The Jedi bowed to the assembled nobility but didn’t take his eyes off Dooku.

“Obi-Wan,” the count said with an air of surprise. “I am glad Anakin’s message reached out in time. Come. Poggle has been kind enough to lead us on a tour of the foundry, and I would have you join us.”

Obi-Wan smiled again, but it was tighter. “Actually, I’ve come to retrieve Anakin. I spoke with his mother on my way down here, and she’s anxious about their separation.”

Anakin moved toward Obi-Wan, but Dooku put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him in place. “She will have to adjust,” said the count.

Obi-Wan’s smile froze, and Anakin leaned back to look up at Dooku. “I want to go see my mom.”

“In due course, padawan. You would do well to remember that a Jedi is not free to pursue his whims.”

Anakin looked back to Obi-Wan, but the Jedi was staring at Dooku. And the Geonosians were staring at them. Then Obi-Wan nodded. “Of course. Don’t let me interrupt your tour of the facility.”

So Poggle led them on, Dooku walking between Anakin and Obi-Wan, and no matter how Anakin tried to get to his master’s side only to be  deftly  blocked.  They left the smelting pits behind and came to a long line of stamping mechanical arms punching parts out of sheet metal  .  When Anakin peeked over the railing, the crisscrossing conveyor belts went down, down, down into the earth. It was loud and rhythmic, but at least it covered the thundering of Anakin’s heart. Sparks and splinters flew, and the grinding gears were an army themselves.  Machines making machines with thin trails of black smoke rising from the welding arms . Dooku slowed his step to admire the churning machinery. “It is impressive, is it not?”

“Only in its scale of malice.” Obi-Wan crossed his arms. “Meeting the Republic with force will only escalate this. If the Separatists go to war, billions will suffer.”

Dooku turned his head with an even, disapproving look, and the motion made his cape flutter. There. On his belt was his curved lightsaber and another straight one. It had to be Master Billaba’s. Anakin tensed. Dooku wouldn’t have hurt her, would he?

But the count’s voice rang over the crushing machinery. “Ever the righteous one, Obi-Wan. I expect nothing less from a Jedi.”

“So you still remember what it means to be a Jedi?”

They were playing some kind of game. Talking without saying what they meant, and Anakin didn’t have time to try and decipher it. If he could  just  get his hands on that lightsaber. He stepped closer to Dooku, but the count turned away from him, stepping between him and Obi-Wan as he faced the Jedi. “Of course. It is difficult to forget such arrogance. But tell me, what did you find in your travels?”

Obi-Wan hesitated. “I would prefer to discuss it somewhere more--” He glanced at the Geonosians a few paces away. “--private.”

“Really ? It seems serious, and I assure you, the Geonosians are our allies.”

The Geonosians, Anakin noticed, had backed away. Obi-Wan fell silent and looked out over the factory with a tired stare, one he usually tried to hide from Anakin. “As the Jedi were?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes were vacant, but Dooku’s flashed, almost golden with the light of the foundry. “The Jedi were not prepared for the return of the Sith. Do not fall prey to the same arrogant miscalculation.”

Obi-Wan’s voice came like a hammer fall. “You are the one who’s fallen, Dooku. And Anakin and I will follow you no further.”

Something twisted in the Force, cold and hard, and Dooku laid both hands on Anakin's shoulders. A chill ran down the padawan’s spine. “You should consider your loyalties very  carefully, Obi-Wan. You have no hope of defending Qui-Gon's Chosen One against a dark lord of the Sith. Not yet. If you leave now, Sidious will find you, and he will take your padawan as he took your master.”

Obi-Wan tensed like he  was balanced  on the edge of a cliff with a sandstorm at his back, teetering. Anakin stared at Obi-Wan, waiting for him to move. To decide. His master would pick right. He always picked right. But Dooku’s hands were heavy on his shoulders, and the Force was cold and coiled in the air. Anakin took a step forward, reached for him, but Dooku dragged him back. The padawan growled. “ _Kapa ovv ji, Sith kung_.”

Dooku  just  glared at him.

“Let Anakin go,” Obi-Wan called. “Then we’ll talk.”

But Dooku didn't let Anakin go. “Join me, Obi-Wan. Complete your training, and together we will destroy Sidious. Then there will be no need for war.”

Obi-Wan had decided--it sang in the Force clear as bells--and he reached out to Anakin in the Force, steadying him with warm light. He was not alone.

***

The boy was afraid, ringing with it, but he trusted the Jedi. He shouldn’t. Obi-Wan was the one who had gotten them all into this mess. Obi-Wan couldn’t beat Dooku, and he didn’t stand a chance against Sidious yet, but it didn’t matter. If he was alone, then he would fight alone.  The Jedi drew his lightsaber and took an offensive stance against the man who had been his grandmaster, his teacher. The man who had betrayed Qui-Gon’s memory and wielded Anakin like a pawn. Qui-Gon's emerald blade sang for battle, to protect. 

“Let the boy go.”

Dooku’s face contorted with anger then he shook his head regretfully. “You will--”

Something slammed into the count, and he reeled back several paces, shock radiated in the Force.  Obi-Wan lurched forward, already reaching for Anakin, but the padawan wasn't looking at him. Instead he stood between Dooku and Obi-Wan, both hands gripping the silver hilt of Depa’s lightsaber. The green blade hummed in his hands, and the Force sang through him. “You leave Obi-Wan alone.”

Dooku pushed himself back to his feet and dusted his sleeve.  “I had hoped your experience in the seeing stone would have taught you wisdom, but it seems I will have to train the foolishness out of you both myself. Jango, if you would care to join us.”

Obi-Wan’s pulse skipped, and he threw a glance in the direction Dooku was looking.

In the wall, a door hissed open, and a Mandalorian in full beskar armor stepped onto the walkway holding Shmi by the arm and some black switch in his other hand. He nodded to Dooku. Obi-Wan cursed under his breath. What in the nine hells had happened to Depa?

“Mom.” Anakin lowered his borrowed lightsaber and stared at her with terror.

“It’s all right, Anakin,” she said. She didn’t believe it either.

Dooku stalked toward the boy. “I can sense your fear, Skywalker. No harm will come to you or your mother as long as your master doesn’t do something rash.”

Obi-Wan ran through his options. Jango had Shmi’s implant trigger. It had to be.  Obi-Wan had cut Anakin’s out of his arm three days into their life on the run, and there was no way Shmi had time to get hers removed.  If Anakin bolted, could he get Shmi away from the bounty hunter and get the trigger back before Jango could flip the switch?

No. Not alone, not with Dooku to contend with. The Jedi lowered his lightsaber. “All right, Dooku. What do I have to do to make you let them go?”

Dooku smiled and stretched out his hand. “I knew you would see reason. Hand over your lightsabers, both of you.”

Defiant to the last, Anakin glared at the count but turned off the lightsaber. “You want it? Then go get it.” And he hurled it away, and it clattered across the ground.

“Petulance,” Dooku sneered and raised his hand to call the weapon to him.

Then the Mandalorian hit the ground in a blur of silver and brown. Depa was on top of him, Shmi knocked away. Faster than the eye could track, Depa flicked her lightsaber and the trigger fell in two pieces. A fireball burst from Fett’s gauntlets, and Depa dove on top of Shmi and rolled the woman away from the flames.

Obi-Wan threw out his hand and yanked Anakin toward him with the Force. With a startled yelp, the boy flew to his master’s side, and Obi-Wan pushed Anakin behind him and faced Dooku.

Glaring at the chaotic scene, the count looked like he had in the seeing stone visions. Cold. Angry. His eyes flecked with gold. “Ah. Master Billaba.  I was wondering  when you would grace us with your presence.”

Depa didn’t spare him a glance. “It’s not too late, Dooku. You do not have to do this.”

“On the contrary, master Jedi, I am the only one willing to do what is necessary. You should thank me for sparing you and the other Jedi from having to get your hands dirty.”

Obi-Wan raised his lightsaber and expanded his presence in the Force to enfold Anakin, to reassure the boy that it was going to be all right. To deflect Dooku’s notice from him. “Stay behind me. And when I tell you to run, run, and do not stop until you get to my ship. Do you understand?”

“What about--”

“Padawan.” Obi-Wan’s voice was sharper than he meant it to be, but he couldn’t afford to worry about Anakin right now. Understanding pulsed along their bond, so Obi-Wan glanced at Depa and Shmi. The Jedi master had Anakin’s mother behind her, closer to Dooku but further away from Fett. Obi-Wan half-wished they could exchange opponents, but the Force had not willed it so.

“This is a mistake, Obi-Wan.” Dooku shook his head and drew his own lightsaber.  The blue blade cast a strange counter glow to the fires of the foundry, and the Geonosians retreated at the sight of it . “You cannot defeat me.”

Obi-Wan crouched. “I’ve killed Sith before.”

Dooku saluted, that taunting opening move. Obi-Wan obliged him with the opening strike.

***

Fett struck first. He threw out the cable, but Depa had seen that trick before, and she sliced it away. He fired off a half dozen shots, and she deflected them all, careful to keep Shmi behind her. The trigger was gone, but the woman still had a bomb somewhere in her body. She circled left, hunting for the bounty hunter’s blind spot, and Shmi moved with her. 

“Shmi. When I tell you, you and Anakin run for the ship. Obi-Wan and I will be right behind you.”

Though Shmi didn’t answer, the Force shifted with subtle resolve. Then Fett activated his jetpack and flew out of Depa’s reach. He shot at her, and she sprang backward deflecting and pushing Shmi along.

“Go. Now!”

The woman bolted and called to Anakin, but he didn’t move. Rooted in place, the youngling watched Obi-Wan and Dooku duel. Shmi caught him up and hauled him toward the door.

***

Obi-Wan swiped for Dooku’s legs, chest, hands, one after the other, driving him back from Anakin. There was less room for Ataru’s flips and, and he didn’t have a firm enough grasp of Makashi to trust it against a master of it. But Dooku obliged by falling back,  easily  blocking and evading every attack.

Dooku locked him in a saber bar and forced the tip of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber into the floor where it popped and burned. He needed both hands to keep Obi-Wan pinned down, and that was some consolation. “Come now, Obi-Wan. You’re making a scene.”

Sweat beaded on the Jedi’s forehead. The foundry was hot, but if he was feeling it, then so was Dooku. “You murdered Aurra Sing, didn't you?"

"And if she'd murdered Anakin? Or Jenza? She was a criminal, and I ended her."

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth. "She should have stood trial like the others."

Dooku leaned forward, twisting his lightsaber and forcing the Jedi to push back to stay standing. Sweat ran down Obi-Wan's nose. "We’re leaving, and you’re going to let us go.”

“I think  not.” Dooku kicked him square in the chest. Flipping backward, Obi-Wan landed on his feet on the walkway railing. Behind him was an empty drop to whirring machinery.

The count held out his lightsaber in a parry position, tip curving toward the floor. “And what  shall  I tell the Assembly? Jenza? That you attacked me, a government official, in public and fled like some common assassin. Do you have any idea how this will look for the surviving Jedi?” His gaze flicked past Obi-Wan to Shmi, who was pulling her son toward the exit. With a flick of the count’s wrist, the door slammed shut. Then he turned his attention back to Obi-Wan. “You cannot resist for long, apprentice. The Dark Side is inevitable. Anything else is denial.”

“I think  you should stop calling me that.” Obi-Wan threw himself forward in a spinning leap, and Dooku had to leap back to avoid  being bisected.

***

As the door slammed shut, Shmi dropped Anakin to his feet and hit the controls. But they didn’t respond. Some kind of override. “Anakin, you have to open this door.”

Behind them, blaster fire and lightsabers crashing added to the hellish thunder of the factory  . The massive space was  suddenly  too small. The weapons were too close to her son. Is this what it had been like while they  were separated? The fear? The danger?

Shmi grabbed the edge of the panel and yanked. She wasn’t as strong as some, but years of hard labor had made her wiry. The panel popped then tore away, revealing a snarl of wires and fuses. Anakin sprang forward and began rifling through them. Shmi knew machines, but Anakin was faster, his hands smaller. He tore a fuse loose, and sparks poured out.

"Oops.”

***

Deflecting blaster fire from above was getting tedious.  She glanced at Obi-Wan again, and the young knight was struggling to hold Dooku back from retreating Skywalkers. The knight could leap and spin, but he  just  didn’t have the footwork to out-maneuver the count.

He needed help, or he would be joining his master soon.

Jango sent another fireball from above, and Depa deflected it with the Force, fire and heat diverting on her hand. The Dark loomed around her like a dense forest, shuttering out the light.  It howled with death, bayed for more, but she spun out of the fire, turned her anger down the length of her blade as she brought it to parry another blaster shot. The Mandalorian was getting frustrated. She deflected it back at him, and one of the bolts pinged off his armor.

There was only the Force, and it showed her a path through the forest. She sprang up the wall, launched off in a graceful arc, and sliced straight through his jetpack. They both hit the ground, Fett harder than Depa, and she was back on her feet with her saber raised. Fett pulled out another pistol, but Vaapad carried her saber to the joint between gauntlet and glove. The hand and the blaster hit the ground, and the Mandalorian pulled out a knife with his other hand

She caught his wrist, pivoted, and threw him over the edge of the walkway to the foundry below.  The churning machinery swallowed his cries, and Depa paused a moment to accept the new death she had to carry now. But she still had others to save, so she turned to Obi-Wan and Dooku and rushed to join them.

Dooku drove Obi-Wan back toward the railing, and they locked sabers, but Dooku had height and leverage, and he forced the knight’s saber almost to touch his own shoulder. Depa struck at the back of Dooku’s knees, and he leaped over and back and caught her back swing inches from his face.

He smirked  condescendingly. “I’m disappointed, Master Billaba. Mace always spoke so  highly  of you.”

“And he of you. It seems his judgment wasn’t flawless.”

With a shout, Obi-Wan sliced with vicious intent. Dooku parried both then struck back. His lightsaber snaked through the air, separating them, drawing them after him as blue blade collided with green.

***

The Geonosians were beginning to stir.  Now that the fighting had consolidated--if she could call it that with all the acrobatics--they would be after the Skywalkers any moment. Shmi gripped the panel tighter. “Anakin--”

Her son jammed the fuse back in place and tore some yellow wires free. The door rose halfway then stalled. Good enough. Shmi shoved him through and called to the Jedi. “Depa! Obi-Wan!”

The brown-skinned master raised her hand, and Dooku slammed into the railing. Then Depa and Obi-Wan bolted and dove under the door. Anakin grabbed Obi-Wan’s hand, and the four of them rushed down the halls.

A tell-tale burning sound echoed through the hallway, and Shmi looked back. A blue lightsaber  was buried  in the door, dragging a white hot line through the thin metal, and an angry, insectoid buzzing filled the air.

“He’s after us.”

Something turned to steel in Obi-Wan, and he shoved Anakin’s hand into hers. “Don’t stop.” Then he spun around and raised his lightsaber.

Depa stopped short. “Kenobi!”

But he was moving back into danger. “Get to _The Revenant_. I’m going to slow him down.”

“Obi-Wan, he will kill you," Depa called.

"No, he won't.  I might  not be able to kill Sidious without him, but he can't do it without me either. Look after Anakin until I get back." Then he was gone.

“No! Obi-Wan, come back!”  Anakin darted after his teacher, but Depa grabbed his tunic and threw the boy over her shoulder, pinning his legs against her shoulder. He tried to thrash, but the Jedi was stronger.

"What is doing?" Shmi asked. 

"I hope he knows. We must hurry."

Shmi ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is staying safe and healthy! All the editing this chapter got was piping it through some online editing software quick because I know I'm going to be useless once TCW 7x11 drops. One more chapter in Part I and then there will be a couple interlude chapters and then we're off on Part II! 
> 
> Since Part I is nearly complete, I'll be updating the tags with some additional tropes and and warnings, so please let me know if there is anything else I should be warning for or could describe more accurately for this story. Thank you all for reading this far!!
> 
> Citations:  
> "Kapa ovv ji, Sith kung." - "Hands off me, Sith scum." (lifted from chapter 7, credit in notes)
> 
> “It is impressive, is it not?”  
> “Only in it’s scale of malice.”  
> “Ever the righteous one, Kenobi. But I expect nothing less from a Jedi?”  
> “So you still remember what it is to be a Jedi?”  
> “It is difficult to forget such arrogance.”  
> \-- Clone Wars: Republic Heroes video game
> 
> The last half of AoTC. So many times.


	17. The Sundered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The frenetic escape from Geonosis comes to a close, and Obi-Wan will always do his duty.

Leaving his friends behind, Obi-Wan sprinted back toward the count.  He rounded the corner and came face to face with the door to the foundry, and Dooku was  nearly  finished slicing through . The Jedi ignited his own lightsaber and took a starting stance. These halls were narrow and twisting. All he had to do was stop Dooku from getting through for a few moments.

The sliced door groaned and burst outward, and Obi-Wan took a deep breath and readied himself to dive back into combat. Dooku strode through the door, Geonosian guards on his heels, but he stopped short when he saw Obi-Wan. He raised an eyebrow. “Returned so soon?”

The Jedi didn’t move. He could not let Dooku get to Anakin. No Sith could get to Anakin, no matter how much Qui-Gon had loved them.

Dooku paused for a moment as if waiting for Obi-Wan to attack first. “You cannot  seriously  hope to defeat me.”

It was true, but that had never stopped him before.

When Obi-Wan didn't strike, the count flourished his lightsaber. “So be it.”

He stabbed for the Jedi's shoulder, and Obi-Wan deflected and forced the tip of Dooku’s blade into the wall. It popped, and smell of burning earth filled the air. Obi-Wan flurried blows on the count, who gave ground and  deftly  deflected each attack. The Jedi pressed his advantage.  As the lightsabers crackled and cut, the Geonosians fled from the fight into dark side passages.

Anakin reached for him, grasped  desperately  for their bond. But he was with Master Billaba, safe, so Obi-Wan focused all his attention on the moment. If he failed, Dooku would get his hands on the padawan. The reek of ozone and burning lightning rushed to mind, and Obi-Wan pressed harder.  The memory of Anakin's frightened shouts on Mustafar crowded into his head, of a red-faced Zabarak cutting down Qui-Gon.

He had failed once before. He would not fail again.

***

Anakin thrashed and writhed, fighting to escape Master Billaba, to help Obi-Wan. “Put me down! Put me down, we have to help him!”

But Depa and Mom rushed out of the city onto an empty landing platform. Anakin tried to twist free. Why weren’t they listening? They had to help Obi-Wan; they couldn’t leave him behind.

_My duty as your master is to protect you._

But he didn't want to  be protected. He wanted Obi-Wan to come with them. They couldn’t let him die like Qui-Gon.

“Obi-Wan!” He reached through the Force, but Obi-Wan had shut him out, and Anakin  was left  banging on his shields. Why was nobody listening to him?

"Where is the ship?” Master Billaba asked.

“It  was supposed  to be here.” Mom pulled out a commlink. “Threepio? Where are you?”

“The lowest level, ma’am. The ship was quite difficult to—“

The Jedi looked over the edge, and the updraft made Anakin’s heart lurch. Then Master Billaba held out a hand to his mom. “I see the ship.”

Mom shook her head, and worry tinted her voice. “That will take so long to get too. Threepio, you must—“

“No. We will have to jump.”

“What?” Both Skywalkers shouted. Anakin felt his heart leap into his throat. That had to be hundreds of feet. They’d splat on the ground for sure. But Master Billaba was steady as stone, and she still held out her hand. “I can make it  safely.”

Anakin didn’t dare thrash while they were so close to the edge, but he got a fistful of the Jedi’s cloak. “Let me go. I have to help Obi-Wan.”

“He is beyond your helping, Anakin. You must trust him.”

What was that supposed to mean? But Mom took a shaky breath and took Master Billaba’s outstretched hand. Anakin stopped his thrashing. He couldn’t get Mom killed. He couldn’t.

The Jedi pulled Mom to the edge then looped an arm around her waist. Anakin grabbed his mother’s arm and held as tight as he could.

“Hold on.” And the Jedi leaped.

***

They landed  safely  if in a bit of a heap.  Depa let Anakin roll off her shoulder and scramble to his feet, staring up at the city like Obi-Wan would come leaping after them. Trembling from the fall, Shmi got to her feet and touched her son’s arm. “Anakin. We must get aboard the ship.”

Anakin looked at her with wide eyes. “We can’t leave him. I can’t. We’re a team.”

Depa reached for him, but Shmi had Anakin by the shoulders. “Obi-Wan is trying to give us time to get away. We must have the ship ready in case he joins us.”

Denial twisted in his face, then he jerked with realization and sprinted past her into the winged ship.  Shmi gave Depa a worried glance, but they followed him aboard, and he was already kneeling on the pilot’s chair flipping switches and hitting readouts as fast as his short arms would allow. A silver protocol droid hovered around him, holding a half-repaired probe droid. “Master Ani. It is so good to see you. We feared the worst.”

“Help me, Threepio.” He strained to reach the top of the control panel. “We’re gonna need a fast getaway.”

Anakin and the protocol droid, prepping the ship, Depa ran back to the ship’s entrance and took out her lightsaber, poised for any Geonosians. Shmi followed her. “Master Jedi.” She glanced back to the cockpit where her son was  frantically  working away. “I still have my implant.”

Depa nodded. She'd destroyed the trigger herself when she faced Jango. But Shmi pressed on. "It might be set to a radius. If we try to leave, and I get too far away…”

Depa allowed herself a moment of horror then gritted her teeth. “What's the radius?”

“I don’t know. But if there's any chance it might go off, you have to leave me behind. It’s Anakin’s best chance.”

A mother’s love for her son. A master’s love for his padawan. Anakin Skywalker, it seemed, inspired a desperate loyalty. “I am not leaving anyone else behind today. Do you know where it is?”

Shmi shook her head. “No. I would have cut it out myself if I did."

That complicated things. But there were no Geonosians coming for them yet. Depa stretched out a hand. “If you’ll allow it,  I think  I can find it with the Force.”

A shaky breath slipped past Shmi’s lips. Almost hopeful. “You can do that?”

She’d have to. Depa closed her eyes. The Force hummed through Shmi in a low cadence. Easy to miss but present, like a candle wick burning low in the full light of day. It guided Depa’s hand to rest on the woman's forearm, and she could feel the lethal sliver of metal set near the bone. Shatterpoint. A twist the wrong way or too hard, and it would burst. Depa set her jaw and opened her eyes. “This will hurt.”

Shmi exhaled hard through her nose, and the Force quivered around her. “I am not afraid.”

So be it. Depa pinned Shmi’s hand to the wall, lit her lightsaber, and steadied herself. Skywalker put her other sleeve in her mouth, bit down hard, nodded once. Then one clean cut, a muffled cry, and a severed bomb clattered to the floor. Pale as death, Shmi swayed on her feet but still stood. She clutched her arm with its deep cauterized cut to her chest.

Depa guided her into the seat, and the protocol droid cried. "Mistress Shmi! You're hurt!"

Anakin whipped his head toward his mother and stared with horror in his eyes. “Mom?”

Still pale, Shmi  just  nodded and exhaled through the pain.  Depa stepped next to Anakin and finished the preparations for take-off while the protocol droid searched the ship for a med kit to treat the cut. They needed to be ready to leave the instant Obi-Wan returned. She would not lose another Jedi to the Sith. She could not. But she had a bad feeling about this.

***

Obi-Wan attacked with precision and speed.  A marked improvement from his early training duels with Dooku, but the count deflected  easily. The walls of the tunnel  were red  and gold with lightsaber gouges.

Some Geonosian guards broke off to chase the others, and Dooku let them.  Skywalker was Obi-Wan’s most obvious weakness, the easiest leverage; Billaba would  surely  cause problems in the future if allowed to escape.  Fortunately, the Geonosians were many and could detain them before they made it out of the city. For now, he allowed the knight to engage him. The Dark Side rang in his ears over the crashing sabers.

Obi-Wan lunged,  narrowly  missing Dooku’s head but overextending himself. Fool Jedi courage.  If he had stopped and thought instead of charging in headlong, they could have avoided all this unpleasantness. If only he would see sense. Why wouldn't the boy  just  listen?

In warning, Dooku dropped a powerful overhead strike. Obi-Wan caught it but had to slide one foot back to brace himself,  visibly  straining. But Dooku turned his wrist to bear down harder and forced the boy to walk backward. “We need not be enemies, Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon would have wanted you to join me.”

“Then you didn’t know him at all.” Obi-Wan spun out of the way, and Dooku followed.  This had been reckless coming back to face a superior swordsman, but Obi-Wan was succeeding in slowing the count's advance though not stopping it.  Clearly, Obi-Wan loved that boy as much as any master loved their padawan. At first, he had thought it was for Qui-Gon’s sake, but now it was clear that Obi-Wan loved Anakin for his own sake. If Dooku could only get Skywalker back, the knight would have no choice but to listen.

The next moment they were outside on the long bridge of a landing platform—Billaba and Skywalkers nowhere to  be seen.

Obi-Wan evaded another blow and flipped backward, landing in a low crouch with his saber at the ready. Showy, but it got him distance and allowed him to gesture  wildly  with his saber. “How long, Dooku? How long have you been letting the Dark Side play you for a fool?”

“A fool?” Dooku called back. He lowered his lightsaber and caught his breath. “My dear Obi-Wan, as I recall, you were the one who came to me for help. It is not my fault if you found the help not to your liking.”

“I should not have. You have betrayed us.” Obi-Wan spat the word betrayed like a poison and bared his teeth, angry, angrier than Dooku had ever seen him. Good. Obi-Wan had anger and fear, but he didn't know how to use them. Not yet.  One day they would make him an even more formidable warrior, but now they only clouded his judgement and made him sloppy.

The count gestured with his lightsaber and tucked his off-hand behind his back. “Have I not protected you and Skywalker from the Republic? Have I not trained your padawan, trained you? Everything I have done has been to secure our future, and you dare call it a betrayal.  Perhaps  you are the one betraying me. Attacking me in broad daylight like some common assassin.”

Obi-Wan pointed his lightsaber at Dooku, and his hand shook. “I trusted you, and you threatened Anakin. You are talking about an army of _slaves_.”

“What would you have me do? Wait for the Republic to strike first?” Dooku leaped— impossibly  fast—and Obi-Wan had to brace to catch the blow.  He slid his foot back for a stronger base and gritted his teeth, but the Dark Side beckoned to Dooku with the thrill of the duel. He was in control of this situation, not the boy, and he would be the victor here.

Dooku pushed Obi-Wan back one step, two. “You sought me out, Obi-Wan. You said you were willing to do what was necessary. This is what is necessary, and we are the only ones capable of seeing it done.”

Obi-Wan faltered, sweat beading on his forehead. There was a firing of a blaster from somewhere below. More danger. He bared his teeth. “And where will it end, Dooku? When the Sith are gone? When the Republic is vanquished? When the whole galaxy is at your feet? That's the actions of a Sith. Is this army for him? The clone army, for him?” Obi-Wan bared his teeth and leaped, Qui-Gon’s lightsaber arcing through the air.

As if he would be so short-sighted. In a flash of anger, Dooku knocked Obi-Wan’s blade aside and kicked him in the chest. Obi-Wan flew backward and over the side of the platform with a cry of surprise. Then he was gone.

A sting of regret caught Dooku off guard, and he darted to the edge and leaned over. Far below on another landing platform, Obi-Wan was on his hands and knees, breathing hard. and far below him was another platform with The Revenant resting on the end. Waiting for Kenobi. So that’s where Billaba had taken the Skywalkers. There were already Geonosians advancing on the ship, and in a few moments, they would  be arrested. Jenza would be able to keep the child she'd grown so attached to, and Dooku would have the collateral he needed to make Obi-Wan, if not willing to join him, at least compliant. And better an angry and living apprentice then a righteous and dead one.

Obi-Wan staggered back to his feet, and though he was too far away for Dooku to see his face, anger and betrayal were palpable. But still, he resisted. Braced himself against the Fall. Dooku cursed, and the Dark Side curled around him, crackled in his veins and on his fingers. He had come too far to lose another apprentice to their own blind stubbornness.

***

A warbling blaster shot rang out, and Anakin flinched. Depa lit her lightsaber and flew to the back of the ship.  From the ramp, she could see Obi-Wan on the level above them deflecting blaster fire, and far above him was the bright blue of Dooku’s blade and the ringing chill of the Dark Side swirling around him. Out of the city were pouring more Geonosians. Depa’s stomach twisted. They were out of time.

The Geonosians fired on the ship, and she deflected two shots before shouting up to Obi-Wan. “Kenobi!”

He glanced down and pointed to the end of the platform. “Go! Now!”

If they left the ramp down, he could jump. He’d make it.

But then Dooku leaped, falling, falling, falling until he landed on the same platform as Obi-Wan and rolled back to his feet, saber ready. The Jedi hurled himself at the count, spinning and slicing with all his strength.

Depa shouted back to the cockpit. “Anakin, take off now!”

“But Obi-Wan—“

She deflected more green blaster fire. “Take off now! Head for that higher platform.”

The engines roared to life, and more blaster bolts pinged off the floor near Depa’s feet. The ship shuddered and lifted, and they were airborne.  As Depa deflected the Geonosians’ fire, and _The Revenant_ jerked and bobbed up toward Obi-Wan. The Jedi master struggled to keep her feet under her and her lightsaber flying to where it needed to be.

On the platform, Dooku was  clearly  gaining the upper hand. He had Obi-Wan’s lightsaber pinned to the ground, and the knight was unable to retreat.

Depa deflected a shot, and a second bolt pinged off the exhaust port. They couldn’t stay here any longer.

“Obi-Wan,” she shouted. “Obi-Wan, jump!”

***

Depa’s voice was  nearly  swallowed by the screaming engine and hail fire. “Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan, jump!”

She’d catch him. He  just  had to jump. Obi-Wan glanced up at Dooku, who had his saber trapped.  Obi-Wan caught his breath, turned off Qui-Gon’s lightsaber, and barreled into Dooku, catching the count’s saber wrist with one hand and driving his shoulder into Dooku’s gut. Dooku staggered but was faster. He twisted his wrist free and struck, and Obi-Wan  barely  turned his own saber on fast enough to catch the blue blade.

“You’re not going anywhere, Kenobi.” Dooku caught Obi-Wan’s wrist, and his hands were ice cold iron. The Jedi strained, teeth gritted.

_The Revenant_ hung suspended in midair, he could see it over Dooku’s shoulder, Master Billaba deflecting blaster fire as fast as she could. Pinned down. They had to go. Why weren’t they going?

Shifting his weight to his back leg, Obi-Wan kicked the side of Dooku’s knee, and the count stumbled.  Obi-Wan drove him back a few paces, but Dooku recovered his footing--damned Makashi-- and he wrenched the Jedi’s wrist. Qui-Gon’s lightsaber hit the ground. The count kicked it away and shoved Obi-Wan with a frigid blast of the Force. Obi-wan hit the ground and rolled end over end and  nearly  off the edge of the platform.  He grabbed the side and stopped short with his torso dangling over the side, and the open air spanned hundreds of feet to the ground.

“Obi-Wan!”

Memories of another bottomless pit flooded him, the vertigo of hanging on for his life while another Sith stalked, reached for his life. But he couldn’t stop. He couldn't get stuck in this memory.  Gasping, Obi-Wan rolled back to safety and called for Qui-Gon’s lightsaber, but Dooku was standing over him, blue saber inches from the Jedi’s chin. “You  are beaten, Obi-Wan. Surrender.”

***

The Geonosians were trying to board the ship.  Depa shoved them away from the ramp with the Force, deflected their shots, cutting through their weapons.

On the platform below, Obi-Wan was down, Dooku standing over him with a lightsaber to his grandpadawan’s throat. She had to help him--she could not lose another Jedi. But that would mean leaping from _The Revenant_. It would mean leaving the Skywalkers unprotected.

A blaster bolt whizzed past Depa’s spinning saber and pinged off the inside of the viewport. Anakin swore in some other language, and Shmi and the protocol droid cried out in surprise.

Depa shoved three more Geonosians from the ramp. If they stayed, they would certainly be captured. Dooku needed them alive for something, and she dreaded to think what it might be. This she knew for certain: Dooku must not be allowed to get a hold of Anakin.

Choices. Always choices, and never the right one. She reached for Obi-Wan in the Force, felt his sweat on her brow, the rush of battle. Through the spiraling cascade of anger and betrayal and fear, he heard her. She cut through two more Geonosian blasters and looked to the defeated knight.

The Force crystallized. A shatterpoint suspended in her next breath.

Obi-Wan couldn’t get up without losing his head, but he raised one hand and stabbed a finger at the horizon with an unmistakable cry in the Force. _Go._

Depa started toward him, reached the end of the ramp, but a Geonosian grabbed her arm and tried to wrestle her lightsaber away. But she drove her elbow into his face and staggered back into the ship.

Dooku was looking up at her now, lightsaber still keeping Obi-Wan from rising. The count reached out a hand, reached for her, and his accusation hung in the air like a thundercrack. Abandoned. She had abandoned Obi-Wan. Guilt and anger seized her, but it would not change things, so she laid it aside. With a burst shove, Depa threw all the Geonosians from the ramp and slammed the controls. The ramp sealed shut, blaster fire hailing  dully  on the outside. Pushing Anakin out of the pilot’s seat, Depa forced the ship into the air to avoid the long plummet to the ground below. Realization and fear and anger flashed through Anakin, and he threw himself at her. “No! No, we can’t leave him!”

There were three fighters incoming. Depa pointed the nose of the ship into the sky and urged it to its full speed. “I will come back for him, Anakin.”

“No!” He grabbed her arm, and the ship veered off course.  But Shmi wrapped her arms around him, winced in pain, and dragged him into the corner, whispering in his ear and holding him as he cried and struggled to escape. “We have to go back, Mom. We have to go back. I have to. We're a team. I have to.”

“I know.” Shmi held him tighter, let him fight, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I know.”

The fighters were still incoming, but Obi-Wan’s ship was faster, and they cleared the atmosphere and the planet’s gravity a moment later.  Holding her own grief and guilt and anger at arm’s length, Depa put in the coordinates for Lothal, and the white lights of hyperspace carried them away . There would be time for sorrows later. Now she had to get the Chosen One home.

***

Dooku was still glaring up at the sky when Obi-Wan felt Anakin’s bright presence disappear. He smiled, closer to a grimace at his grandmaster. “He’s gone. He’s gone, and you’ve lost.”

A moment passed, and Dooku smiled  serenely. “You’ve miscalculated again, apprentice. I have lost an advantage, but I suspect there are other ways to motivate you."

What? That was--

Kriff. _Kriff_ , this had never been about Anakin at all. The padawan had  just  been a pawn.

Dooku held out his other hand. “There is no reason to keep fighting. Join me.”

Obi-Wan clenched his teeth and tasted hot blood. When had he split his lip? In the fall  maybe.  His easy expression hardening to a scowl, Dooku moved the lightsaber  fractionally  closer, and the blade hummed  . A warning. “You cannot defeat Sidious alone. Join me, and we can shape this galaxy  however  we see fit. We will destroy the Republic and build a new future for  all of  us. For Anakin.” He extended his other hand. “Together.”

Obi-Wan looked at Dooku’s extended hand then up at his grandmaster. Then he rolled off the platform and let himself fall.

End over end he twisted in the hot, dry air that burned his face as it whipped past him. He twisted, looked for his landing. Then an invisible hand grabbed him, and his head snapped forward. The Dark Side curled around him in long claws and pinned his arms to his sides and arrested his fall.  Struggling was useless, but he struggled anyway, trying to wrestle himself from the inexorable grip.

The angry hum of wings filled his ears, and Geonosian guards surrounded him, grappled him into binders, and dropped him back at the count’s feet. Obi-Wan hissed and glared up at his captor. At the man he’d trusted with Anakin’s life.  But Dooku's posture was rigid as he stood with his hands behind his back, and he gave the Jedi a judging look like he  was disappointed  in what he saw. “I gave you the chance to aid me  willingly, Obi-Wan. Remember that.”

The memory of white-hot lightning struck him, and Obi-Wan shuddered and clenched his jaw. “I trusted you.”

“I know.” Something like sadness flickered in Dooku’s face. “And in time, you will again.” Then the count nodded to the guards. “Take him to my ship. As soon as my business here  is finished, we will be returning home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the close of Part I, folks! Thank you so much for reading this far and for your all your lovely comments and encouragement!! 
> 
> I have the next few interlude chapters and Part II mostly plotted, I just need to soldify some plans before we jump into Sidious' masterminding and the eventual happy ending.


	18. Interlude I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Padme negotiates with a bitter Republic, Anakin and Depa summarize the story so far and learn of a broadcast that may shape their future.

As the galaxy separated itself into two, Mandalore and a thousand other systems had asserted their neutrality. Padme could not say she supported them—there was too much to lose to stand back—but now, moments from beginning peace talks with the Republic, she was glad for neutral ground. Meena Tills from Mon Cala was with her, as was Kerch Kushi. The Separatist Council has charged the three of them with drafting a peace treaty with the Republic’s representatives. Avoid war at all costs, they had said with the tired, determined expression of people who believed war to be inevitable. 

The palace was bright, full of tall windows and taller ceilings, covered in art and blues and purples that lent the throne room a serene air. Duchess Satine Kryze sat on the elevated throne in a sculpted teal and purple gown, a few members of her court around her--projecting an image of stability that would be sorely needed for talks as weighty and tense as this. A moderating presence for what might be the most important summit of the decade. She had survived civil war before and had been almost violently vocal in her calls for peace.

Mandalorian guards stood about the perimeter, still and silent. The attendants had been allowed one personal attendant apiece, and Rabe stood just behind Padme’s shoulder, in a subdued gold gown that matched the elaborate golden embroidery on Padme’s heavy black robes. As if the handmaiden were only an extension of the queen herself. It helped people to forget about the extra girl in the room, which allowed Rabe to observe and study everyone in the room. Sabe was still on Naboo with their people, ready to step into the role of queen at a moment’s notice.  _ Just in case _ . That seemed to have been their blessing these past few months.  _ Just in cast history comes for us faster than we expect. _

Also in the throne room where the Republic’s representatives. Senator Mee Deechi from Umbara with his pale, hollow cheeks, the three-eyed Senator Kharrus, and with them Bail Organa of Alderaan. Padme had met him only in passing that evening on  _ The Invisible Hand _ when secession from the Republic had been a nervous dream, but he had been level-headed during the assassination attempt, and he had supported her call for a no-confidence vote. How long ago that seemed now.

Senator Organa bowed low. “Senators. Your Majesty. Duchess. Will the count not be joining us?”

Padme nodded her head in acknowledgment and gave Organa a measured look. “Count Dooku had an unforeseen delay. As chair of the Confederacy’s Council and the appointed proxies of the CIS’ Assembly, we are fully prepared to negotiate a peace treaty.”

“I see Chancellor Valorum has not accompanied you either.” Kushi raised a blue-green eyebrow ridge in the Republic’s direction.

The duchess raised a hand, cutting the subtle barbs short. “Friends. Please be seated, and we can begin the summit.”

Organa nodded. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

When all of them were seated, the duchess spoke again, her voice echoing ever so slightly in the vast throne room. “These peace talks have begun. Representatives of the Confederacy of Independent Systems, you have asked for this summit with the Galactic Republic to discuss terms of an agreement of peace. please state your terms.”

Padme allowed a moment of silence to let the faint echo of Satine’s voice fade before adopting her deep royal accent. “We wish to be officially recognized as a sovereign body of systems by the Republic, and for the Republic to cede all rights and authority therein. The Republic will withdraw all of its occupying forces and garrisons from the independent systems immediately--”

Senator Deechi leaned forward and sliced the air with a grey gloved hand. “That is just not possible--”

“You must make it possible,” Padme said. “The occupied planets have made it clear that the continued presence of the droid armies will be considered hostile action. It will be treated accordingly.”

The Republic senators exchanged glances before Organa spoke. “The droids are a peacekeeping measure, in case the riots and protests the count seems so fond of inspiring become widespread.”

“They are an occupying force.”

“A  _ stabilizing  _ force,” said Deechi. “The Republic does not recognize your little insurgency as a legitimate government, and we will not be dictated.”

The Mon Cala senator’s gills fluttered in what Amidala could only assume was the annoyance she felt herself. But they had not come to quibble over vocabulary. There would be time enough for that in the actual treaty. For now, they just needed to air their demands and assess the counter demands for triage. 

“Unfortunately for the Republic, by agreeing to meet with us you have already recognized us as a distinct state, which we made clear in our offer for this summit. This is not a reconciliation, Senator.”

A moment of silence. Then Organa spoke again. “I’m afraid you are correct, Your Majesty. Though the Chancellor made it clear that any system--” He looked pointedly at each of the three Separatists. “Who wishes to return to the Republic will be welcomed back with open arms and full aid to make up for the trade lost these past months.”

Meena bristled, likely at the thought of loyalty being bought. It might be tempting to go back to certainty, to familiarity. But anyone who went back to the Republic now would be watched like a prisoner. The Confederacy would have to start arranging help for their allies who were most missing direct trade with the Core.

But Organa was speaking again, now that his point had sunk in. “And, in exchange for withdrawing the battle droids, the Republic asks that the Separatist Assembly suspend all armament activities immediately. You understand the speed at which the Confederacy is arming itself is alarming.”

The Republic had spies certainly. Did they know that Dooku was on Geonosis collecting their newly completed droid armies now? Did they know that they could not hope to match the Republic in the field just yet? 

Padme dipped her head. “We wish to avoid war at all costs.” Not a promise, but it earns a small smile from Organa.

“I am glad we agree, Your Majesty.”

It was to be their last agreement for some time. The following negotiations were grueling with the Republic’s representatives loath to give ground and the Separatists pressing every advantage. Padme had not come for paltry promises. But the Senate, it seemed, was adamant about admitting no fault. Frustration built in the air to an almost palpable static, and the duchess was watching them all closely.  Finally Kharuss shook his head, one eye fixed on each of the Separatist representatives. “I think you have overestimated your position, friends. The count has persuaded many systems to follow him, but you hardly outnumber the Republic.”

“Yet more systems flock to our cause every day,” said Senator Meena with a wave of her webbed hand. “After how Valorum mishandled Naboo, you can hardly be surprised.”

“The Chancellor  _ averted  _ the crisis on Naboo,” Deechi cut in. 

“ _ After _ he allowed the Trade Federation to prey on the Outer Rim for years, and  _ after  _ he allowed them to have representation in the Senate while denying  _ us  _ a voice.” 

Deechi leaned forward. “You want to preach about business become politics? Who do you think is paying for your armies?” 

“The Assembly--”

“The Assembly hasn’t levied taxes or tariffs yet.  _ You _ can’t afford two cogs to run together. Your heroic leader Count Dooku footed the initial bill for your dreadnaughts, if I’m not mistaken. Very generous, though maybe not so much since you elected him head of your little state. And where do you think he fills his coffers from? House Dooku has been investing all over the galaxy for generations, so don’t delude yourself into thinking your cause is funded with anything less than dirty money.”

“The nerve—“ 

“Senators.” Duchess Satine’s tone would brook no argument. The Umbaran raised both hands in a gesture that was not a surrender but not a challenge either. He’d said his piece. It rang a little too true for Padme’s taste, settled rank in her stomach, but if it were a matter of choosing her poison, it would be easier to be vigilante with the Separatists, to stamp out corruption in a young system. How many times had she told herself that in the past few months?

But Deechi stabbed a gloved finger in Padme’s direction. “Amidala, you asked the Senate for aid, and when you did not receive the answer you wanted, you called for a vote of no confidence. When that failed, you ran right into the arms of that… that Jedi agitator. How are we to trust you for anything?” 

Padme was glad for her face paint that hid the sudden flush of anger. Behind her, Rabe shifted ever so slightly, and she and knew the other girl was just as furious. Padme glowered a warning look at the Umbaran. “I did what was necessary to protect my people against the Republic’s inaction. Even if that means allying with a survivor of a people the Republic  _ murdered _ .”

“The Jedi were power-hungry traitors,” Deechi shot back. “As are all you.”

The Mon Cala senator made an outraged noise. “Power hungry? You--”

This was escalating too quickly. Amidala raised her hand to catch her companions' attention and lowered her voice to keep it steady, to hold onto the stability and wisdom the Naboo had believed her to possess. “We will not stand by while the Republic stations garrisons in our homes and holds its power by right of force. We will not consent to tyranny.”

“You’d rather the Trade Federation had their armies, Amidala? Where would Naboo be if the Chancellor hadn’t seized the droid armies and forced them to stand down?” 

“And now he deploys them to any system that dares raise its voice.”

“Typical Outer Rim world rhetoric. The Chancellor finally curbs the power of the conglomerates, and you call it tyranny because you don’t get your way. Your own senator Palpatine saw this for what it is. He was loyal enough to remain with the Republic.” He started to his feet. Organa grabbed his arm, trying to calm the Umbaran, but Deechi shook his head and a finger in a sharp dismissal. “The Republic will not suffer this.”

Padme bristled at the thought of Palpatine. He had been a mentor, a friend. He had persuaded her to call for a vote of no confidence, which, in hindsight,  _ had  _ galvanized the Chancellor into action, but then the senator had abandoned her to support Valorum, begged her to reconsider and stay.  _ Do not give up on democracy, my lady. We must believe in the Republic even if the man leading it is not what we would hope.  _

But the Republic no longer functioned. While her people suffered—died—the Senate wallowed in committees and corruption and bills laden with personal agendas. It had taken a sweeping overreach of office for Valorum to  _ do  _ anything, and now they were paying the price with thinly veiled garrisons on any planet that dared protest the Chancellor’s sudden, unsanctioned acquisition of an army. And this senator dared to preach to her about what the Republic would not suffer? For the first time, Padme was glad of Dooku’s insistence on having an army of their own. “Beware, Senator. You will remove __ your battle droids from our borders, or they will be removed.”

The Umbaran paled with anger. “I will not be—“

The duchess rose to her feet and descended the first few steps from the throne. “Everyone. Please. You are here to negotiate peace, not fling accusations like so much muck. I suggest we take a half-hour recess, and when we return, I would ask that you leave such churlish behavior behind.” 

The representatives dispersed begrudgingly, leaving only the queen and the duchess behind. While Satine exchanged a few words,  Rabe stepped close. “My lady?”

“It will be fine,” Padme repeated the thought to herself again then turned to face the Mandalorians. “Duchess. Will you not reconsider Mandalore’s neutrality stance?”

Satine turned from her conversation and frowned slightly. The duchess was still young, only about a decade older than Padme herself, but the queen recognized the tired lines around Satine’s steely eyes and the set of her shoulders. She was a woman who had seen war, what the galaxy was capable of. Then she shook her head, and the lilies in her headdress swayed slightly. “No, Your Majesty. I cannot.”

“Surely you know what the Republic has done. Garrison bordering on occupations. Genocide.”

Satine’s face tightened. “My people are well aware of the Republic’s crimes, Your Majesty. More so than many.”

That was true. Mandalore and the Republic had technically been at peace for a hundred years, but there was untold bloodshed in that history. And the duchess headed a council of hundreds of neutral systems. If she could be persuaded to join the CIS, Deechi’s accusation of small numbers would be no problem. 

Padme let her accent rise closer to her natural speaking voice. A subtle show of friendship. “The Republic will not honor your decision to stay neutral.”

The duchess raised an eyebrow. “Will the Separatists?”

“Of course. We are defending our freedoms, not conquering.”

Satine smiled thinly. “I should like to believe that. But the Separatists have yet to prove themselves trustworthy. You speak of peace, yet you foster discord and riots. You speak of freedom, but one can hardly conduct peace talks over the din of the galaxy’s collected armies arraying for battle.” She shook her head, and the lilies swayed. “Mandalore has worked too hard to be drawn into yet another futile power struggle.”

Padme bristled. “Even if we were guaranteed to lose, I would not submit to the Republic’s tyranny for one more day. If we leave them unchecked, where will the corruption take the Senate in our own lifetimes?”

“And how many innocent people must suffer for the count’s crusade? A man who carries a blaster will die by blaster fire, but so too do the innocent.”

Padme gestured to the empty seats, a difficult feat with her heavy sleeves. “No one has to suffer. We are trying to  _ negotiate _ .” 

“Then negotiate, Queen Amidala.” 

Padme opened her mouth then closed it. She had been caught. Something sparked in the duchess’ steel grey eyes. “I understand your cause, Your Majesty, even if I cannot condone it. Do not allow them to bait you. You have the faith of your people and of the Separatist Assembly, and I believe you can find a peaceable solution if you do not give up.” She turned her back to the queen, back her court and her people, then paused and turned her head to look Padme in the eye. “If you wish to be called righteous, Your Majesty, you must act rightly. Please. Be careful that wrong does not win the day here by technicalities.”

*** 

Night had fallen on Lothal when Depa guided the Revenant to rest just outside the little village of stone huts like crouching giants in the shadows. She turned the ship off and looked to Anakin and Shmi. The boy was leaning morosely against his mother, covered in oil and grease from fiddling absently with the droids, and the two of them looked as worn as Depa felt. She gestured for them to follow her, and the three of them exited the ship. Mace was standing at the end of the lower gangplank, saber at the ready and lighting a purple pool of grass around his feet. There were others behind him, Jocasta and Bant and the sentinels, standing between the ship and village. But as Depa descended the ramp, his face flickered from determination to relief to concern. “Depa.”

“Mace.” She stretched out her hand and took his elbow and he hers in a steadying motion. He could sense her exhaustion and worry, but hiding them would only make him more concerned. The bandage around his eye had been replaced with a handwoven patch, one that she suspected might be permanent. With his remaining eye, he searched her face, then his gaze flicked past her. “Skywalker?”

“And his mother,” she supplied. 

“Where is Kenobi?” 

Depa glanced at the other Jedi assembled. “We should discuss this inside. With the Council.”

He nodded, and a few minutes later, Depa, Mace, Jocasta, and Masona sat inside one of the stone huts in the dim glow of a low-burning fire. The reconstructed Jedi Council seated on the dirt floor of Mace’s new house. Anakin and Shmi sat opposite the Jedi, a thin trail of smoke curling off the embers between them. The boy was hunched forward with deep dark circles under his eyes and a deeper wariness in his spirit. 

His last encounter with the Council had come at Qui-Gon’s funeral, and that association had to be hard for a child to shake. Depa nodded at him. “Anakin. I know you are tired, but you must tell the Council what has happened to you since Naboo.”

He blinked once then twice. “All of it?”

“Yes.”

He shut his eyes tight, and Shmi took his hand, and he crushed her hand in his fist. Her presence steadied him, and he nodded and began his story. “Obi-Wan and I were at the palace with Padme--with the queen when she got the call that all the Jedi were traitors and we should be arrested. She almost let them take us. But then the Force went weird, and it hurt, and I thought Obi-Wan was going to start fighting… then somebody said the Temple was burning. And she let us go. So we stole a ship out of the hangar and flew and flew and flew until we were on Ryloth. The droids found us there, so we went to Nal Hutta and hid there for a while. Then we went to Yavin, and the droids found us again, and Obi-Wan said he had an idea for somebody who could help us. So we went to Ord Ramada and he went to go talk to Dooku while I hid.”

Mace narrowed his eyes. “Yan Dooku?”

“The leader of the Separatists?” asked Mosana.

Mace and Depa exchanged a look, and she sent him an impulse to wait, to hear the whole story. 

Anakin nodded. “Obi-Wan said that he needed more training. That we needed a place to hide so we could stop running. He… he said the Sith are looking for me.”

If Dooku’s name had caused a stir, the mention of the Sith did even more so. Jocasta rocked forward onto her knees to get a better look at Anakin. “You are a child. Why you?”

It wasn’t unkind, just blunt, but Depa felt the sting that coursed through Anakin as he leaned unconsciously closer to his mother.

“I… I don’t know. Obi-Wan said it’s because I’m strong, but that he wouldn’t let them find me.”

“So Obi-Wan was training to defend you from the Sith?”

Anakin nodded. “He went looking for them, and I hung out with Jenza and Padme for a lot of the time. Then we went to Geonosis and…” The Force curled around him, fear and confusion lacing his presence like the oil stains that covered his hands. “Everything went bad so fast. I shouldn’t have left him.”

“Kenobi?” Mace prompted. 

Anakin just nodded and bunched his fists in his pants. Taking pity on him, Depa stepped in. “We were betrayed.”

The Force coiled tighter in the small house, and the light sputtered a moment, then steadied, and she pressed on. “I had persuaded the Separatist Assembly to outlaw the bounties on our heads, to let us recover in peace.” 

“We know,” Jocasta said. “We heard it on the local broadcasts. It seems you were most persuasive.” 

“Perhaps. But I may have made an error in revealing that there were any survivors at all. I sensed something amiss when Dooku talked about Kenobi’s training. About war. So I followed them to Geonosis and found Dooku trying to contract a bounty hunter to create a clone army.”

“What?” Masona sounded horrified. 

“Slaves.” The Force rumbled around Mace, a storm under glass. 

“Yes. He’s fallen.”

Jocasta inhaled through her teeth. “That is not possible.”

Depa glanced at her. The archivist and the count had been of the same generation, had been padawans together. Perhaps the betrayal was more personal for her.

“I don’t know what fallen means.” Shmi’s voice was quiet but firm. “But he threatened my son. He tried to stop us from leaving, and he still has Anakin’s friend.”

As her words sank in, Mace and Depa exchanged glances again and the Force hummed between them like a plucked string. A question from Mace. Did Dooku know about Lothal? Depa shook her head once. She’d checked  _ The Revenant _ for tracking devices. They were safe for now.

Then Anakin’s voice broke in, quiet and plaintive. “Are you gonna save Obi-Wan?”

The Council looked to Mace, and he shook his head. “Not tonight, Skywalker. We will discuss this in the morning.”

“But--”

“In the morning.”

Young Skywalker looked so lost that Depa’s heart went out to him, a masterless padawan with a braid barely longer than her small finger, awash with shatterpoints. Shmi took her son’s hand and pulled him to his feet. Knight Bant was waiting outside. She would see to them for the night. Maybe put them with the initiates where Anakin could be with children his own age. But at the door, Anakin paused and turned back, his face pinched with worry. “Do… you think Dooku will hurt him?”

Taking a slow breath, Depa centered herself. “Nothing is certain. But he was careful to keep Obi-Wan alive. Your master is safe for now.” 

Anakin hesitated then nodded and allowed his mother to lead him back outside into the cool night.

Mosana shook his head and looked sidelong at her. “You should not have lied to him, Master Billaba.”

“It was not a lie. Dooku said he had plans for Kenobi, and Obi-Wan was certain he would survive. We cannot leave him in the clutches of a potential Sith, but…" It will not do for her to lie. It will do none of them any good. "I do not know if we have the strength to save him. Mace--”

He shook his head. “Not yet. But we may soon. Master Nu?”

From her robes, Jocasta pulled a small commlink and levitated it to the center of the room. “One of the knights has been listening to the secure communications channel. We don’t believe the Republic has found it yet. It was radio silent until two days ago when they captured this recording. It’s been broadcasting on a randomized schedule.”

Depa leaned forward, and Jocasta turned the commlink on.

The holographic symbol of the Jedi Order appeared, flickering, faded, but there. Static crackled then clarified as a familiar voice began to speak. “This is Jedi Master Plo Koon of the High Council. If there is anyone listening to this channel, know that you are not alone. Trust the Force. Trust your training. The truth of what happened on Courscant will one day come to light, but until then we must remain hidden. Do not return to the Temple. Leave Republic space if you can, help each other when you can, and do not lose hope. The Force will be with you. Always.”

The commlink flickered off, and silence returned to the rough-hewn council chamber. Depa swallowed and rubbed her forehead, her piercing cool to the touch. There was something inexpressible churning in her stomach, joy shot through with terrible grief. Plo had survived. He was alive. And looking for others. Perhaps he had already found them. What a strange burden hope was. Holding it carefully, gratefully, she swallowed again. “Have we answered?”

“No,” Mosana answered. “It could be traced, and if the Republic knows about this channel…”

“Have we tried tracing it?”

“Yes, but we do not have the technology.”

“And if Dooku is fallen, he may be listening as well.”

Beset on every side. Death behind. Death ahead. 

But the Force had sent them hope.

“We must make contact.” 

Mace raised his eyebrow that wasn’t covered by the eyepatch. “Obi-Wan’s ship.”

“Yes. It must have the ability to send an encrypted call. I will take it off-planet in the morning and attempt to trace it. If it seems genuine, I will try to respond.”

“This is dangerous.”

“I know. But if there is a chance there are other survivors, we must take that chance.”

So they were agreed. Mace dismissed the Council, and Depa got to her feet and was finally hit with the exhaustion she had been holding at bay, willing herself to push through. She caught herself on the wall and shook her head. Mace’s gaze was fixed on her, but he did not push, only waited until she had steadied before he spoke. “Get some rest, Depa.”

She ran a hand over her face. “I can’t, Mace.”

“You must. You will be no help to anyone if you can't stand up.”

"I know. But there is so much to be done." 

"And it will all be there tomorrow, my old padawan." 

He was right. As usual. She sighed and reached for the commlink Jocasta had left behind--the archivist likely already had the content copied to the holocron she guarded so jealously. The recording clicked on, and the familiar voice played back.  “This is Jedi Master Plo Koon of the High Council. If there is anyone listening to this channel, know that you are not alone...”

***

The prison was cleverer than Obi-Wan cared to admit. There were no windows in the stone walls to give an escape or connection to the outside world, and the sickly yellow-grey ray shield on the door had no visible way to deactivate it. The thickness of the walls prevented him from seeing more than a few paces down the hall either direction, and it had some sort of Force-dampening effect. Nothing so strong that he felt cut off, but there was a muted quality to all his senses that he did not care for. A single yellow light glowed overhead, and the only sound was that of the cool air cycling through the minuscule vents.

Whatever this place had been designed to contain, it had adapted well enough to hold him. 

The quiet, deliberate pace of boots on stone echoed down the hall, and the Force cooled and dimmed enough to make the hair on Obi-Wan’s neck stand on end. Was it evening again already?  Breaking from his pacing, Obi-Wan crossed his arms and tucked his chin to glare at the door, wishing again for his Jedi robes instead of the stark black prisoner’s uniform he’d been given.  Dooku stopped on the other side of the ray shield and regarded him with a long look before he spoke. “Good evening, Obi-Wan.” 

The Jedi hitched his shoulders. “I wouldn’t know.” 

“Still you take me for your enemy, my friend. But you are mistaken--I am your only ally in this galaxy, and I beg of you to reconsider.” When Obi-Wan did not answer, Dooku only shook his head. “Very well. Shall we begin?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks for sticking it out during the unintended mini-hiatus. I got distracted by my other AU and decided to let this one cook a little longer to sort the exact story beats for the next few chapters. 
> 
> Satine's line "If you wish to be called righteous, Your Majesty, you must act rightly. Please. Be careful that wrong does not win the day here by technicalities." and her having grey eyes is a reference to the Eumenides by Aeschylus, where Athena tells the Furies that justice must prevail and asks them to trust her judgement instead of meting out more punishment on Orestes. Padme and the Separatists are functioning as a kind of Furies demanding justice for for the slain Jedi and the occupations and past slights, and the Republic is already sick of them (and feeling guilty) so they need a neutral third party (who also understands war and the cost of war) to mediate for them and help them reach a civilized ending. Enter Satine/Athena. Hope they listen to her lol. 
> 
> Padme's not having a great time, but I'm excited that Plo has finally made it onstage. All of the senators/negotiators in Padme's scene make an appearance in The Clone Wars TV show, no OCs this time. And because what's the point of space politics if everybody doesn't look nice, here are some references for the main negotiators' outfits. 
> 
> Padme  
> https://www.vogue.com/fashion-shows/fall-2012-ready-to-wear/dolce-gabbana/slideshow/collection#7
> 
> Satine  
> https://www.vogue.com/fashion-shows/spring-2020-couture/iris-van-herpen/slideshow/collection#17
> 
> Bail  
> https://www.vogue.com/fashion-shows/spring-2017-menswear/balmain/slideshow/collection#55


	19. Interlude II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Depa receives a message. Dooku isn't above petty threats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for imprisonment, manipulation, and brief suicidal thoughts.

“Shall we begin?”

Obi-Wan glared at Dooku. “Torture? I didn’t think you the type, but I’ve been wrong before.”

Dooku gave the boy a grim smile. “I hardly think that will be necessary.” From his few months training Kenobi, he knew that the pressure required to break the Jedi would likely be lethal. No, Dooku had no interest in breaking Obi-Wan, not when the slow wear of reality would do it just as well. 

The yellow ray shield hummed once, and a hatch in the ceiling slid open. An interrogation droid descended with a set of binders and drifted toward Obi-Wan, who raised both fists and backed away, defiant to the last, but the droid extended its electro-prod. The Jedi feinted left and dove right, trying to outmaneuver the droid, but Dooku didn’t have time for this. He caught the foolish boy with the Force, held him fast, and the droid tased him once. Obi-Wan shouted once, but the restraints were already around his wrists, and the droid shocked him again--nothing strong enough to damage, but Obi-Wan gritted his teeth and shoved the droid away. Once he was restrained, the droid retreated to one corner to hover menacingly, a subtle reminder of who held the power in the room. Then the yellow ray shield winked out, and Dooku stepped into the cell. “Now then. Do you intend to listen tonight?”

Obi-Wan glowered at him like he intended to set the count on fire through force of will alone. “You want me to join you as what? An assassin? An attack dog to call to heel?”

“An apprentice.” 

The younger man flinched. “Don’t waste your time,  _ Sith _ . I doubt your master will leave you much of it.”

A flicker of cold ire flashed through Dooku’s veins, but he quelled it. “Your emotions cloud your judgment. I am the leader of the fastest-growing faction in the galaxy, the voice of the Outer Rim, and commander of what will soon be the largest droid army the galaxy has ever seen. I have nothing to gain from bowing to that puppeteer, and everything to gain from seeing him dead on the end of your lightsaber. Do  _ not  _ accuse me of such short-sightedness again.”

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw, but Dooku could see his words spinning in the Jedi’s head. “So you betrayed us. You had my loyalty, and you threw it away for what? More power.”

“You mistake pragmatism for treachery. Do not forget, my dear Obi-Wan, that you sought me out because you desired the strength to do what is necessary. I have simply accepted the truth sooner than you.”

The Jedi leans back and gives him an incredulous look. “The truth?”

“The power Sidious possesses cannot be met by a Jedi. If you truly want to destroy him, this--” Then Dooku allowed his shields to flicker out, his frigid presence filling the room. The Jedi recoiled instinctively, but Dooku did not relent. Overhead, the light flickered in the presence of the Dark Side. “This is what is necessary.”

Obi-Wan stared at him with a clenched jaw and revulsion then shook his head. “Anyone who worships power will worship evil soon enough. If you want to play the fool then Force help you. I will not.”

“Be careful, Obi-Wan." Dooku raised a hand in warning. "I am your sole ally in this. Without my training and my resources, your search for Sidious will take time you do not have. Time Anakin does not have.”

Fire flashed in Obi-Wan’s eyes. Sentiment. It was a pity Skywalker had escaped--leverage was less effective out in the wild--but the mention of the padawan applied at the right times would serve its purpose. The self-sacrifice to save his padawan fueled Obi-Wan’s defiance still, steadied him, but Dooku knew the truth--the Dark Side was as inevitable as entropy, and the Jedi struggled futility against its gravity. It was endlessly patient, and so was Dooku. He could afford to let Obi-Wan exhaust himself against the Dark’s pull, to tire himself out and drown in it, but neither of them had time for petty blind idealism. Time. All the power in the galaxy and still they were rushing to keep pace with Sidious. The sooner that Sith was dead, the better.

The count curled his lip back in mild irritation. “Self-righteousness is a luxury you can ill afford now, Obi-Wan. As is time. You and I must reach an understanding tonight if the Jedi are to be preserved.” 

Obi-Wan stiffened then glowered, baring his teeth. “Do not threaten the Jedi.”

There was the rage, buried and still burning in the cool cell deep in the bowels of the Geonosian hive city. But there would be time to tend it later, to fan it into full flame. For now, he only needed Obi-Wan’s cooperation, not his corruption. Dooku crossed his arms. “I am not threatening. I am informing.”

“The Jedi are no threat to you, and they won’t come for me. You won’t be able to use me as bait.”

Interesting. Dooku hadn’t even made his offer, and Obi-Wan had leaped to martyrdom. Perhaps this would be easier than he thought. The count shook his head regretfully. “Even one Jedi is a threat, as Master Billaba proved, but I have no need to raise my hand against them. This galaxy is a hostile place, Obi-Wan. Especially to the Jedi now that they are no longer protected by the Republic’s good graces and have yet to enter the Confederacy’s.” He waited a moment to let the words sink in before he continued. “The protections Master Billaba worked so hard to secure have the Separatist Council’s approval but they have yet to be ratified in the Assembly. Once word gets out of your little panic on Geonosis—“ Obi-Wan flinched slightly at that characterization, but Dooku felt no pity. The boy had panicked, pure and simple, and now he was learning the cost of his lack of foresight. It was a painful lesson, and Dooku had never been above twisting the knife. “And believe me, my friend, word is already out, the doubt in the Jedi will double. The protections will stall, and the Bounty Hunter’s Guild will lobby and make sure the proposal never reaches the Assembly floor again. The Jedi will find themselves friendless in a galaxy eager for their heads. How long will they last, I wonder?”

Anger flashing in the Force, Obi-Wan jerked forward, cuffed fists raised. The interrogation droid moved toward him, and the Jedi hesitated then straightened and raised his chin with a glare. 

Projecting ease, Dooku crossed his arms. “The masters and knights will last a few months perhaps. They won’t be able to deny their training, they will try to find the Sith Lord themselves. They will be destroyed. The padawans might make it longer. If they isolate themselves, keep their heads down. Most of them will die, but a few may be able to forget about the Jedi and start over.” 

Obi-Wan looked away, his jaw clenched. Seconds stretched to minutes as Dooku allowed the boy to stew. The knight’s shields were shut tight, but he was working hard to keep the guilt and turmoil from his face, failing. 

“Perhaps…” Dooku allowed the word to hang in the air and pretended not to notice how Obi-Wan’s head turned a fraction of an inch. “I can explain to the Assembly that Geonosis was a misunderstanding. That you were deceived and have since repented of your rashness. I can persuade them again that the Jedi are not a threat and can be left in peace.”

Understanding lit Obi-Wan’s face. “My soul for the Order’s.” 

Dooku gestured with one hand. “I will gladly speak on behalf of my old people. But your attack has caused a great deal of fear among the senators. If I could guarantee your future cooperation and good judgment, it would do a great deal to sway their support.”

Obi-Wan was wavering, refusing to meet Dooku’s eye. The trap was set, the strings of it glinting in the Force like a spider’s web. All Obi-Wan had to do was obey his self-sacrificing instincts, and he would fall into the trap with his eyes wide open. The count allowed the words to hang in the air as the ray shield dropped and he stepped from the room. On the threshold, he paused. “Think of what I’ve offered, Obi-Wan. I make my call to the Assembly in an hour.”

His footsteps echoed in the hall as he exited the prison and left young Kenobi very much alone.

***

Space was especially quiet between stars. Depa had brought  _ The Revenant  _ three days from the nearest star system, closer to Mon Calamari than Lothal, right on the edge of the hyperspace lanes. If anyone did try to trace her call, it would bring them to a busy crossroads with no way of telling which way she had left in. It was not perfect, but the ship could bounce the message off a few different relays across the Holonet, which would offer another layer of protection.

Depa let the ship drift in the dark vastness of the space between stars, eyes shut. It was cold and still and devoid of life, but still, the Force was there, lacing up the galaxy at the seams. It rumbled ever so slightly, the hum of distant kyber stars like a note nearly too low for the human ear to perceive, but she could feel it in her chest. There might be no life here, but where she was, the Force would also always be. For a moment, the Jedi let the soundless depths of it resonate in her bones. Then she turned on the commlink. 

“This is Master Depa Billaba of the Jedi Order. I have received your message, and I hope this response finds you safe. You are not alone. Please contact me.” She repeated her message then ended the transmission and rested her hand on the console, head bowed. “Come on, Plo. I know you’re out there.”

But staring at the console would not bring her answers any sooner. So Depa moved to the back of the ship and sat cross-legged on the floor to meditate. The Force was still clouded, that terrible darkness hovering just out of reach that tried to fog her senses and dull her hope, but she reached for the light of the nearby stars, kyber distant and spun like strands of silk against the void of space. She drifted there for a long time, letting the threads pull her through the depths of the Force as they trembled in her light grasp.

It would be easy here to compel answers from the depths. To demand reason and foresight from the Force that enveloped her, but Depa stayed her hand and waited. She trusted the Force. It had brought her this far. It would provide what she needed 

There was a presence beside her, a small shoulder pressed against hers, leaning gently on her for support. A young voice laughed, bright and clear near her ears. “Master? Master, are you listening?”

“Always, padawan.” Her own voice echoed back but not from her lips. 

The boy leaned closer, but when she turned her head to look at him, he was on her other side, tugging on her sleeve. “Are you listening?”

“Yes.”

A dull red glow flashed behind her eyelids, and she started, opening her eyes, but the red glow persisted, flooding the space around her. Ice crept across her skin. The child again, reaching for her. She took his hand, and he laced his short brown fingers with hers, and his voice shook. “I’m afraid, Master.”

She didn’t know who this child was, but the surge of warmth and worry in her heart told her she had always known. Was he one of the younglings on Lothal? One of the children on Jocasta’s data crystal? It did not matter. She squeezed his hand back. “I know.”

“Find me.” 

Slowly, still holding his hand, she said, “Where are you, padawan?”

“Trust the Force.” His voice steadied, sounded older, clearer. “It will guide us.”

Another small hand, scaly and spined, grabbed her tunic. “Find me, master.”

Young voices echoed around her, calling to her. “Find us.” 

“Master, find us.”

“Find us!” 

Another glow threw a new set of shadows across, flickering and unsteady, and the hum and heat of a lightsaber touched the back of her neck. 

“Find them.” A low, familiar voice. She half-turned to look at the speaker, but the light of the blade obscured them to only a cloaked figure, and she couldn’t tell if the saber was red or merely looked so in the invasive red light. It glinted off a helmet’s sheen beneath the dark hood, and he spoke again. “You must find them, Master.”

Through the overlapping voices, she reached out with the Force. “Where? Where do I look?”

“The broken planet,” answered a chorus. “Find us!”

“We must find them,” said the cloaked man. “Before it’s too late.” 

A breathy voice--the padawan--exhaled near her ear. “Master, wake up!”

The dark between stars enveloped her in its cold embrace.

***

Obi-Wan knelt on the floor of his cell and tried to meditate, to ask the Force for answers, but it was silent. He could feel it. He’d been cut loose at the moment his master died, he and Anakin caught in each other’s orbit as they hurtled through the galaxy. Then they’d fallen into the pull of Dooku’s gravity, and he thought they were safely tethered only to find the former Jedi a collapsing star. He had managed to tear Anakin free, to fling the boy into the gravity of his mother and the Jedi and hope it would be enough.

His soul for the Order’s survival. 

A simple trade. It should have been an easy choice, an easy sacrifice, but it rankled in his chest and made him sick. He had seen the Dark Side before, on Naboo, on Raxus, on Mustafar and Geonosis, and he knew it would be so easy to throw himself after Dooku, the traitor. To turn his back on the Force and embrace the power to slaughter Sidious. But he could not. He could not throw away everything Qui-Gon had taught him, not for vengeance. He would die, gladly, a thousand times over if it meant Anakin and the Jedi survivors would be safe, but that was not the choice. 

He wished that this had not fallen to him, that someone wiser and stronger could chose for him. He wished...

“Have you made your decision?”

Obi-Wan raised his head and met the hard gaze of his grandmaster standing outside the cell. The ray shield flickered, and for a moment, it was the Zabrak waiting for the padawan to come to his death. He blinked hard, and it was Dooku again, waiting for an answer. 

“I will not be your assassin.”

Dooku was silent for a moment, weighing the answer then nodded. “Very well.”

Exhaling hard, Obi-Wan crossed his arms and thanked the Force, but the count waved his hand dismissively. “Cling to your high Jedi morals if you must. They will not last long. Sidious’ secrets must be exposed, his plans stopped. If you are the one who stands at the crossroads or the place of concealment, you must never leave it to another to act in your place.”

Qui-Gon had said something very like that once, and the familiar words stung. Had Dooku been right? Would Qui-Gon have joined him if he had lived? For a moment, Obi-Wan wished his master had survived instead, and he held the thought tight then opened both his hands and exhaled shakily and let it go. The Force had seen fit to let _him_ live, and he must abide by will or else he was lost. This duty had fallen to him, and there was no one else. 

“You will not look for the Jedi or move against them, and you will not harm a hair on Anakin’s head.”

Dooku nodded.

His soul for the Order’s. Obi-Wan dragged a deep inhale, steadying himself before the plunge. There was emotion, yet peace. Death… death, yet the Force. Always the Force. “I will help you. But I will not fall.” 

A smile curled Dooku’s lips, and Obi-Wan’s stomach twisted as he felt the trap snap shut. The ray shield shivered and dropped, and Obi-Wan steeled himself reflexively. Dooku entered the cell and gave the younger man with a long look before laying a heavy hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Jedi and Sith, face to face, tenuously allied. Obi-Wan had never felt so alone.

“You and I will destroy the Sith, Obi-Wan. We will avenge Qui-Gon’s death and save this galaxy from Sidious’ terror. Come. There is much to be done.”

***

Depa started, her eyes flying open. She was on the floor of  _ The Revenant _ , flat on her back, fists knotted in her cloak and a thin layer of sweat on her forehead. Sitting bolt upright, she looked around the ship and saw nothing. A vision.

Children. The Force’s children calling to her. 

A flashing light caught her attention, and she stumbled to her feet and to the console where the missed message alert flashed on the comm. She hit the play button without hesitation. 

A blue form flickered to life then steadied into Plo Koon’s masked face, carefully stitched across the left cheek where something had severed the tough fabric. Alive.  Unexpected tears welled in her eyes, and Depa exhaled and covered her mouth with her hand.

“Master Billaba. It is good to know you are alive. That you are safe.” Plo sounds unspeakably tired but steady as she remembers. Except for the fixed damage, his mask looks the same, but she cannot help think that he looks tired as she feels. And she suddenly feels very tired. “I am sending coordinates in this message for a rendezvous in a week’s time. Meet me there if you can. We have… much to discuss. May the Force be with you.”

The message winked out. Depa played it again, watching the flickering of the light for the embedded coordinates. 

***

Dooku made his way from the Geonosian cells, Obi-Wan at his side staring doggedly into the middle distance. This was not exactly as the count had wished it--the Jedi a Jedi still, held at his side by force. He had thought the boy would be flattered to be Dooku's first choice of apprentice after a lifetime of being assigned, but it was no matter. Obi-Wan had joined him and would be effective enough until he embraced the Dark Side. 

The count would explain away Obi-Wan’s lapse in judgment on Geonosis to the Assembly, to Jenza. He would complete his new apprentice’s training, and soon Obi-Wan would stand with him by choice, and together they would crush Sidious and the Republic under their heel. 

There were, after all, always two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The alternate title for this chapter was "The Lost Son" because it applies just about everybody here but Depa. Depa's found a whole new plotline that's been just barely hinted at for a while but will be the main carrier for Part II, and her meeting with Plo in the next chapter will propel us out of these weird interlude chapters into the next real arc of story. 
> 
> I took a couple different runs at this, and the version where Dooku Force lighting's Obi-Wan into compliance didn't feel right at all character-wise or from a reading perspective, so opting for some old-fashioned threats and playing on Obi-Wan's desperate need to fix things instead. 
> 
> References:  
> "Anyone who worships power will worship evil soon enough." - Obi-Wan  
> "The descent to hell is easy and those who begin by worshiping power soon worship evil." - The Allegory of Love, C.S. Lewis
> 
> "I am not threatening. I am informing." - Dooku  
> "Jedi do not threaten. We inform." - Jedi Apprentice books 
> 
> "Secrets must be exposed when found. Detours must be taken when encountered. And if you are the one who stands at the crossroads or the place of concealment, you must never leave it to another to act in your place.” - Qui-Gon, via Wookiepedia


	20. Interlude III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Depa finds more than she could have hoped for, and Obi-Wan may be more alone than he thought.

Depa leaned against the wall, imitating the posture of an evening reveler waiting for a friend outside the cantina, letting the rain patter on her hood. Despite the rain, the air smelled of ship fuel and alcohol and livestock. Yavin’s moon was damp and hot dotted with small colonies, and she was not interested in drawing the attention of the locals. Since Yavin was technically in neutral space, she hadn’t seen any Republic forces, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t arrive any moment. 

A couple of traders passed, giving her barely a nod before disappearing into the cantina. Depa crossed her arms. She couldn’t afford to wait much longer. 

“I am one with the Force.”

At the deep familiar voice, Depa’s heart leaped and she turned as nonchalantly as she could to keep up the appearance of a casual meeting. “The Force is with me.” 

Plo stood behind her, dressed in the tattered clothes of a freight trader, his own hood pulled low to shade his mask. “Master Billaba.”

She exhaled, allowed the tension in her chest to unspool. “Master Koon. Plo.”

“Depa.” He offered a clawed hand, and she clasped it for a moment while they reassured each other they were real. “Were you followed?” he asked. 

“No. You?” 

“No. I am glad to see you all right.”

“And I am glad to see you. I was relieved to hear your message. How are you transmitting it without getting caught?”

A small crowd of drunk locals stumbled out of the bar hooting and laughing before turning down the street. Depa waiting until they were gone then turned back to Plo, who frowned, madly contracting. “I dropped a holo relay not far from Illum and set it to bounce off a dozen holo relays through the Mid Rim. The Republic doesn’t seem to have found the frequency yet, and if they do, they will not find anything worth their journey.”

“Illum? What were you doing that close to wild space?” It was probably what had kept him alive, being that far from the Core worlds. 

Plo glanced around. “Not here.”

That was probably wise. Depa nodded up the street. “I have a ship.”

And she let Plo to _The Revenant_ , which he swept for truckers. A year ago she might have been insulted by his lack of trust in her ability to sweep for bugs, but desperate times made everyone suspicious. And Plo had to be protecting something important if this was how cautious he was. 

“Don’t worry,” said Depa as he finished his sweep. “I borrowed it from a friend who was even more paranoid than I am.”

He nodded and pressed some coordinates into the navigation computer. “It’s not far, but it will give us time to catch up.”

She smiled wearily. “I hope this is a long flight because I have a long story for you.”

*** 

The late evening air was cool to the point of biting as Jenza waited anxiously on the landing pad near as the ship settled on the landing. She had seen Yan’s call to the Assembly, heard his explanation for the Jedi’s attack that had sent Poggle raging to the Council. It had been nothing more than a misunderstanding, reportedly. She had scrambled to defend the protections Amidala had started before they fell through the Assembly’s skittish hands. Yan had the decency to leave her a personal message with more details that were even worse than she feared. It was Obi-Wan, Yan’s own grandpadawan, that had attacked him, not some traumatized Jedi with no reason to trust him. Obi-Wan had stumbled into some Sith trap in his searching and seen terrible visions, things that preyed on his traumatic losses and twisted his trust until he’d believed Yan was the Sith Lord he’d been hunting for. In his fear, Obi-Wan had sent Anakin with Master Billaba and lashed out.

Now she was here at an ungodly hour, waiting for her family to appear and explain themselves, wringing her hands as the sun sailer settled on the landing platform. Her brother appeared first, crossing swiftly to her and taking her hands in his own. “Sister.”

“Yan.” She dug her nails into his sleeve, not sure if she was more relieved to see him alive or more furious about his silence. “How dare you ignore me? Amidala’s protections were barely passed this afternoon, and I didn’t know anything more than anyone else. You could have been hurt for all I knew. Anakin could have been hurt, or Obi-Wan.” She put her palms together and rested her index fingers against her nose to regain control of herself. It would not help anyone to make a scene here. When she was calmer, she shook her head. “After what happened with those bounty hunters...”

“My apologies. I was preoccupied with Obi-Wan, but have no fear, dear sister. You will not be rid of me that easily.”

“Forgiven, I suppose.” She glanced past him, but Obi-Wan stood atop the ramp, arms crossed and waiting for ancestors only knew what. “How is he?”

Yan shook his head. “I was able to talk some reason into him, but he is still… confused. The loss of his master and the Order have affected him even more deeply than I realized, and the Sith temple preyed on that paranoia.” He frowned. “Perhaps I should not let him speak to you.”

“He won’t hurt me.”

“It isn’t just your safety. He may accuse you of being in league with my wicked schemes, or he may try to turn you against me.”

“We will have to regain his trust then.” Qui-Gon’s death was still so recent, and she knew he felt it however much he pretended otherwise. She could not let him lose a grandson as well, Sith be damned. “He will be all right, Yan.” Then she sidestepped her brother to look at Obi-Wan, who had descended to the bottom of the ramp and watched them warily. “Obi-Wan. I’ve been worried about you and Anakin,” she said. 

He looked tired with dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks sunken beneath his beard. How much he had changed in the few weeks since she had seen him last. She approached slowly. “Yan told me what happened. Are you all right?”

He eyed her warily. “What did he tell you?”

She shot her brother a glance, but he was stony-faced. Turning back to the younger man, she laid a gentle hand on Obi-Wan’s elbow. “He said that you had a nightmarish encounter in some Sith shrine on Mustafar. That it lied to you and made you think we had betrayed you and Anakin.”

“Is that what he said?” His gaze flicked to Yan. “And did he tell you about Anakin?”

“He said you sent Anakin with Master Billaba to keep him safe.” Jenza missed Anakin’s laughter and incessant questions already, but he was with his mother and the Jedi now, and she could not be selfish. “Will he be safe?”

“Yes.” A spark of determination flickered back into his tired eyes.

“Will he be loved?”

“Master Billaba will train him.”

She smiled sadly. “Will he be loved?”

A fleeting uncertainty flickered across his face, but then he nodded. “They will teach him. And his mother is with him.” 

Jenza sighed. Then she could let Anakin go and let him go gladly knowing he was safe and cared for even if he was beyond her reach. There was, however, still the problem of Obi-Wan who so clearly thought himself alone and adrift in a galaxy set against him. He had been proven right so many times before, no wonder he expected betrayal around every corner. She laid a hand on his cheek, and his beard scratched her palm. “Then you made the right choice. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but everything is going to be all right, dear.”

Pain flickered in his eyes, but he smiled. “You are too kind, my lady.” Then the smile vanished, and he grabbed her wrist, dragged her closer and lower so he could hiss in her ear. “Your brother has betrayed us all. He’s a Sith, and you  _ cannot _ trust him.”

“Obi-“

“Obi-Wan.” Her brother’s voice rang out across the landing platform. “Let her go.”

The Jedi released her and backed away, and she shuddered from the sudden rush of adrenaline. Obi-Wan looked torn between anger and apology, and she wanted to reassure him, but Yan was at her side, hand on her elbow to heck her for injury. She waved him off. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

“Jenza—“

“We don’t have time.” Better to distract him with something besides his grandpadawan. Fortunately for once, the galaxy stopped for no one, and there were more than enough problems to address. “Queen Amidala said the talks are nearing their close. In a few days, you will have a treaty to sign.”

He scowled. “Doubtful. The Republic will never agree—“

“There is a rumor that Valorum himself will be there. If this is a chance for peace, you cannot miss taking it.” 

Yan thought for a moment before nodding. “Very well. Then we will not. Obi-Wan, you will accompany me.” 

“I’m not going to Mandalore,” Obi-Wan said tersely. “You don’t need me to sign some treaty.”

“Hardly, but I require your presence nonetheless. Consider this... a field assessment after your recent lapse in judgment.”

Jenza put a hand on her brother’s shoulder. Having still fresh trauma manipulated by a Sith had to be a horrifying experience, and if Yan wanted to regain his grandpadawan’s trust, it needed to be offered in return. 

The two men glared at each other for a long moment, locked in some struggle of wills Jenza knew she could not sense. Finally, Obi-Wan spoke. “Lady Jenza, may I have the helmet back? The one from the party.”

“Of course. It was repaired weeks ago. But why?”

“Bodyguards tend to be fairly anonymous,” he said glibly.

She frowned at the deflection but nodded. “All right. If you’re certain.”

“Very.” He gave Yan a last hard look before turning away. “Where we’re going, I think I’d prefer to leave Obi-Wan Kenobi behind.” 

***

Depa brought the ship out of hyperspace at Plo’s coordinates, deeper in Mandalore space than she had ever been and into what looked like a vast expanse of black space. A moment later her eye caught the glint of a silver Paladin-class corvette, a silhouette familiar to every Jedi. Her breath caught. “Plo, is that—“

“The Crucible.” 

She glanced at her friend, but he tapped a comm channel into the console.

“This is Master Plo requesting permission to board. I have Master Depa Billaba with me.”

A beat of silence over the comms. Then a mechanical voice crackled back, “Master Plo, please confirm.”

“Transmitting confirmation code now.”

Another beat of silence then, “Confirmation received. Begin docking.”

They brought _The Revenant_ below the ancient corvette and docked, the pressurization making a and the two Jedi were greeted by a silver architect droid. Depa bowed. “Master Huyang.”

“Master Billaba. Master Koon.” He whirled his right hand. “It is good to see you. Come. The children have been anxious for your return.”

He led them into the central gathering space where a group of children was gathered around a holo chess table and cheering on a blue Twi’lek about padawan age playing against a human girl. Four of the children--the human girl with dark bobbed hair, a green Twi’lek, a male Cerean, and a Mon Cala--looked about old enough for the Gathering, while two girls, a Togruta and Mirialan--watching from the sidelines looked like very young initiates who ought to be playing safely in a creche. The Future of the Order huddled and shouting for the most raucous game of holo chess Depa had ever seen--her heart caught at the sight. 

Plo laid a hand on her shoulder. “I was bringing these younglings back from their Gathering when we felt it. We’ve managed to stay hidden these long months since.”

Then one of the younger girls, a Togruta with bright blue eyes, noticed them standing in the doorway and scrambled off the bench, shoving through the older children’s legs. “Master Plo! Master!” 

She darted across the room and Plo dipped just in time to catch her as she hurled herself into his arms. “Hello, little ‘Soka.”

“I knew you’d come back.”

“Did you doubt it?”

“Kalifa did.”

The other children had left their game and were now clustered around the Jedi masters with a churning sea of relief and excitement. The padawan--Aalya, if Depa remembered correctly--stood at attention behind the initiates, and the Mirialan girl clung to her side. Aalya looked tired, dark circles under her dark eyes off-set by a fighting spark fanned back to flame.

“It’s Master Billaba,” whispered one of the older initiates. “From the Council.”

Plo set “little ‘Soka” in one arm and addressed the other children. “Phoenix Clan. This is Jedi Master Depa Billaba. Master Billaba, may I introduce Padawan Aayla and Bariss--”

The padawan bowed with a determined set to her jaw, and the Mirialan beside her bowed with all the formality a five-year-old could muster.

“Kalifa, O-Mer, Jinx, and Nahdar--”

The human girl with the dark bob, the Cerean, the Twi’lek boy, and the Mon Cala all bowed in order as Plo spoke their names.

“And Ahsoka.”

The Togruta in his arms bowed her head. 

“Phoenix Clan. It gives me great joy to see you all safe, and I am honored by your welcome.” Depa bowed deeply to them all, recognizing their trial, their suffering. What had they endured to survive this far? 

“Master,” asked Nahdar. “Are you here to help us?”

Depa smiled. “I am.”

“Are there others?” Kalifa asked. “Did you bring more?”

Pressing closer, the children looked expectant, hoping against hope as Depa had for so long, and she was glad to give them the kindness of nodding. “Yes. Yes, there are others.” 

Kalifa pressed her palms to her eyes and stifled a sob, and Jinx threw his arms around his age-mate, tearing up himself. “It’s okay, Kalifa. It’s real. It’s real, and the dreams were wrong. We’re not the only ones anymore.” 

The youngling sank to the floor, and her clan huddled around her as she sobbed with relief. Ahsoka wriggled in Plo’s arms and he set her on the floor so she could join the pile of children reassuring each other. Aayla hovered over them with an air of weary protectiveness and care, and Depa wondered how a padawan and two young initiates had ended up on  _ The Crucible _ . Before she could ask, Plo laid a hand on the twi’lek’s shoulder. “When is the last time you rested, padawan?”

Aayla glanced at the chrono on the wall before looking down. “A while. Professor Hyuang was working on the engines.”

“Then go get some rest. The children will be fine for a few hours.”

“The kids…” 

“Will be fine,” Depa said. “You have done well, padawan. There will be more to do when you wake.”

Aayla bowed. “Yes, Master Billaba.” And she slipped away into the ship. Once the children were all calmed, Professor Hyuang herded the children away for a lesson. Depa exhaled and turned to Plo, but he answered before she could ask. “Aayla, Barriss, and Ahsoka were the first to answer my transmission. They escaped from the Temple in the initial assault, but Aayla’s master was lost helping them escape.”

Depa held a moment of silence for the fallen Jedi. Quinlan, if she recalled correctly. “That’s a terrible grief for one so young.”

“Indeed. Come. There are a few more you should meet.” 

Plo led her through the ship. Phoenix Clan had been dreaming since Illum, dreaming of being alone in dark rooms where no one could hear them crying for help, dreaming of a tower under a yellow and purple sky that woke them screaming. The Force often spoke truest from the mouths of children, though they rarely understood what they had seen, and it grieved her to know the younglings had borne that weight. But they were not alone anymore, and she would help them carry it if she could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter as originally written was 6,000 words long, and I can't edit that much in one sitting, so I've split into two chapter and will post the second part once it's edited. Then we'll be out of the interlude and full swing into Part II!! 
> 
> Jenza got played like a harp by her own brother, which isn't great for anybody, but Dooku isn't about to let Obi-Wan have a real ally while this this elaborate existential loneliness trap is being laid. Jokes on him though because Jenza is going to be even more pissed off once she figures out exactly what's going on. 
> 
> References:   
> The Crucible and Professor Hyuang are from the TCW The Gathering arc (5x6-5x9), which is a ceremony for younglings to collect their first saber crystal and build their lightsaber. All these kiddos do have their lightsabers!   
> Kalifa, Jinx, and O-Mer are from the TCW Padawan Lost arc (3x21-3x22). I aged them up a little bit to make them old enough for their gathering, but I think they are closer to Ahsoka's age in canon.   
> Nahdar is Kit Fisto's padawan from TWC Lair of Grievous (1x10).


	21. Interlude IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More old faces and more old friends. Obi-Wan finds himself on Mandalore and makes a choice.

Mandalore was much as Obi-Wan remembered it. Desolate and proud and unyielding as the midday sun glinting through the dome of Sundari and onto the palace’s glass face. As the transport from the landing platform to the palace steps slowed and prepared to stop, Dooku glanced at Obi-Wan and curled his upper lip in disgust. "You insist on hiding behind a mask when you could be here as an equal. Remember that when you grow tired of anonymity.” 

Obi-Wan splayed his gloved fingers over the black visor where the Trandoshian’s claw had gouged a deep groove. The scar was gone now, smelted over with new sacanium, but he could feel a slight border at the edge of the scar. The claw to the face would have killed him, but the helmet was stronger for the repair and would bear another blow worse than the first. He had endured worse. He could endure this too. 

"I'm not the only one wearing a mask at this summit. I'm just honest about the one I've donned."

Irritation flickered across Dooku's face as the barb landed, but the sound of footsteps drew their attention to the steps of the palace. Approaching were Duchess Satine and two of her guards, and Obi-Wan's heart caught at the sight of her. She was as tall as he remembered, clad in purple and teal and an air of confident pride. Her face was worn from a few years of hard politics but beautiful, and her voice was clear and firm as she bowed her head slightly to Dooku and extended her hand. “Count.”

Dooku took her hand and bowed. “Duchess Kryze. The Independent Systems cannot thank you enough for hosting these peace talks.”

She tilted her head up, clearly unimpressed by him. “You  _ can _ , but whether you have the will remains to be seen.”

Though the helmet hid his face, Obi-Wan repressed a smirk and a dull pang in his chest. Ruling had not dulled her razor tongue or clouded her clear-sightedness. 

Dooku only straightened and smiled. “I understand how important honor is to your people. Allow us to show that we are honorable, Your Highness, and you will not be disappointed.”

Satine gave him a long appraising look, doubt and mistrust simmering just below the surface, then her gaze flicked to Obi-Wan, and all the intentions he had laid on the journey here went up in smoke as, for one mad moment, he wanted to tear the helmet from his head, to tell her that her suspicions were right, to warn her of the Sith looming over her. He wanted--

Satine looked away without any sign of recognition, and the mad impulse to reveal himself was snuffed out. If she knew he was alive, she would try to help him and put herself and her people in danger. Dooku had proven he could manipulate the Assembly with ease; it would be a simple matter to turn Separatists against Mandalore--or Mandalore against the young ruler who had broken with the old ways to speak of peace. 

Dooku had already twisted the truth so finely that he’d deceived Jenza; what half-truths would he spin to snare her too? Obi-Wan’s stomach turned. No. She had lost too much for him to put her in a Sith’s crosshairs like that. He could not betray her like that. Dooku could not know that the Jedi and the Duchess had ever been anything to each other. 

So Obi-Wan fell into step behind the two rulers, pulled his shields tighter around himself, and buried his emotions and grief. There was no room for them here. This was not about him. 

“The Republic’s representatives arrived a short while ago,” Satine was saying. “I believe a copy of the treaty was sent to you for your review before the signing?”

“It was, Your Highness.”

Get in, sign the treaty, leave. Not unlike the few extraction missions Obi-Wan had done as a padawan—though now his only role was to make sure nothing went wrong. This was what he was now, a weapon chafing against the hand that held him. 

Whether anyone stuck to the treaty after it was signed was not the point, Dooku had insisted. He seemed to have little faith anyone would honor it. This was about what the treaty represented, about giving the Republic a standard to fail against so the Separatists would be vindicated in the eyes of history and of the watching galaxy. If Valorum wanted to be the aggressor, let the wavering systems see it clear as day. 

Queen Amidala was waiting with the other representatives in the throne room and acknowledged them as they entered, which prompted the Republic to turn to face them. Among them was Bail Organa, whom Obi-Wan remembered from the party aboard  _ The Invisible Hand  _ when Dooku had persuaded Amidala and half the galaxy to turn their backs on the Republic. Also present were the Chancellor’s trusted advisors—Mas Amedda and Sheev Palpatine. Politicians to the core, though they smiled well enough. Palpatine, Obi-Wan recalled, had abandoned Naboo for the Chancellor’s office, and it seemed to have served him well. Present too was the Chancellor himself. Even under the make-up, Valorum looked drawn, like he hadn’t slept in days. Obi-Wan wondered if it was guilt gnawing at the man’s bones. 

The Force hung like a fog in the room. Everyone here had broken faith, betrayed something or someone to reach where they were, and Obi-Wan found himself looking around the room of heretics and traitors about to swear peace while holding armies behind their backs. Would they fall to war right here?

Obi-Wan was glad for the helmet that hid his face. 

Valorum bowed slightly. “Count Dooku.”

“Chancellor Valorum,” Dooku replied coolly. 

The two men stood stiffly like fighters sizing each other up before daring the first swing, and the haze in the Force thickened to stifling.

“Gentleman.” Satine’s voice was cold and firm as she seized the high ground of voice of reason. “If we may begin.”

Valorum looked away, and the tension eased. She ascended to her throne, and a Mandalorian man brought forward a stack of flimsi as thick as two fists—the treaty. Mandalorians were nothing if not a people of tradition. The treaty was a bandage on a gaping wound, one that could not hold for long. Obi-Wan glanced at Queen Amidala and Senator Organa, the architects of the scaffolding. If their efforts could hold until Valorum’s term was up in a few years, perhaps his successor would have a more willing ear. 

Palpatine clasped his hands. What had Valorum been thinking, bringing Naboo’s traitor senator here? “The Senate has ratified the treaty, though there is a great deal of worry that the Separatists' ambitions to...” He glanced at the Chancellor with a significant look. " _Reforge_ the galaxy may outweigh the importance of our agreement."

Obi-Wan glanced at Amidala, but she had already raised her chin with an imperious look. She too had felt the sting of a mentor’s betrayal. “I assure you,  _ sir, _ the Confederacy of Independent Systems has sanctioned the treaty exactly as it lies written, and we will hold the Republic to honoring it.”

Before the tension in the room could ratchet any higher, Dooku stepped forward, a hand raised in a conciliatory gesture. “Friends, I thank you for the pains you have taken forging this treaty. The sooner it is signed, the sooner the galaxy can rest at peace.”

Liar. Offering peace with one hand while he prepared for war with the other. Dooku started some carefully rendered speech, but Obi-Wan wasn't listening. He didn’t have his lightsaber—the count had confiscated that days ago, hidden it Force only knew where. But Obi-Wan did have a vibroblade on his belt, typical for a faceless bodyguard. Dooku’s attention was entirely held by the politicians, and he had turned his back to the Jedi. 

It would be the work of a moment. Less effort to rid the galaxy of another Sith than it took to remove his helmet. With Dooku dead, the Separatists might stand a chance at keeping the peace, of building something with the moral fortitude to stand against the decaying Republic. Obi-Wan would be dead himself before the count hit the floor, the snipers posted in the corners of the room would make sure of it, but he had already traded his life for the safety of the Jedi. To lose it entirely seemed a small price to pay. 

Obi-Wan stared at the spot between Dooku’s shoulders, judging the exact distance, the force required to deliver a lethal blow, trying to ignore the roar in his ears. 

It was his duty to rid the galaxy of the Sith. 

It would be easy. 

It would be easy. 

“I think not.” Satine’s voice, cold and sharp, startled him, and he dropped his hand from his belt where it had drifted while he wrestled with his thoughts. 

The parties had drifted back to their sides of the table, the treaty signed. Dooku radiated an aura of annoyance, but he addressed the duchess with a politician’s ease. “Mandalore has always enjoyed a robust trade network with the Outer Rim. I expect they shall continue to do so.”

“A trade network opened through treaties with the Republic,” Palpatine responded.

Satine narrowed her eyes. “What are you implying, sir?”

“Only that Mandalore has undergone a great change these past few years.” He gestured to the Separatists with an almost innocent expression. “A change nearly as dramatic as the one Naboo and Serenno have chosen. If Mandalore has forsaken her old traditions then perhaps it is not reasonable to expect the old traditions to be upheld.” 

The Duchess rose to her feet. “I will remind you that you are guests in this palace. I will not listen to any slander on the honor of my people.”

In another life, Obi-Wan would have interjected just here, but now he held back and watched as Satine sliced the air with her hand. “Mandalore will honor what treaties we have signed, and we will remain neutral,” she said. “I am committed to my principles. Can any of you say the same? Let us see if you can honor what promises you have made before you demand them of others.”

“The Republic keeps its word,” Valorum asserted with more force than he had exerted the entire summit. Then he winced and pinched the bridge of his nose before regaining his composure. 

Palpatine gave the chancellor a look of suppressed concern before smiling at Satine with a grandfatherly bent that bordered on patronizing. “We will honor your decision, of course, Your Highness. But the offer for a new treaty stands. As it does for anyone--” He glanced around the half-circle of Independent Systems. “--Who wishes to be restored to the Republic.”

“That--” Amidala said. “Will not be necessary, and we do not thank you for your pains.”

Palpatine shook his head with something like regret. Everything about the man was calculated--his speech, his kindness--but something poisonous glinted in his eyes. “I think you will find, Your Majesty, that nothing grows on Serenno but sacanium and sedition. The galaxy has a long history with the Republic that will not be easily forgotten.”

The Force rippled ever so slightly then stilled as Dooku wrinkled his nose in disdain. “I served on the front lines of the Republic for decades. I am intimately familiar with its long history failing the galaxy.” Dooku bowed. “Chancellor.”

Then the count turned his back on the conversation and the Republic’s party and addressed Queen Amidala and the other Separatist representatives. “Your Majesty. I cannot thank you all enough for your pains here. I will do my utmost to see that the peace you’ve begun here is honored.”

Obi-Wan clenched his teeth, but Amidala nodded. “Thank you, Count.”

The Force curled around Obi-Wan, the slightest tremor, and he glanced back. Satine was sweeping from the room, her frustration and resolve like iron in the Force. 

The Republic’s representatives were in some discussion, but Palpatine glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, and Obi-Wan’s stomach turned. He had never liked politicians, and he needed to make sure these stayed far, far away from the Jedi. He was surrounded by people playing the long game, carefully calculated betrayals for positioning years in advance, not scrambling from moment to moment. He needed to start thinking the same way, for his own sake and for the Order's. There might not be a way for him to escape Dooku, but he might be able to outmaneuver him if only Obi-Wan could get his feet under him. And he knew what his first move needed to be.

Obi-Wan snapped his gaze back to the count, who stood waiting a few paces away. Amidala and her handmaiden were gone, and the Republic was on its way out. He narrowed his eyes at the Sith through the visor. “I need to make a call.”

Dooku raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Very well. Consider it a reward for not burying your knife in my back.”

Obi-Wan didn’t know if Dooku was speaking metaphorically or if the Sith knew how close he’d come to a vibroblade between the shoulder blades. It didn't matter, he supposed. Obi-Wan forced himself not to flinch because Dooku would sense it despite his helmet, and the two of them made their way toward the sun sailer on the edge of the city.

***

Anakin lurched awake, pushing away the wolves. But there were no wolves. It had only been a dream of monsters lurking in the dark grass outside the dying light of a campfire. 

He was cold. Lothal was cold at night. He rubbed at his eye with one fist and peered around in the dark. The stone hut was dim, lit only by the red coals of the fire smoldering behind the grate in the wall. Around him on grass mats lay younglings of all ages. Beside him, his mother lay curled up on her side with her back to the wooden door that led outside. She looked peaceful. Safe. Tired, but the worry lines in her face had eased since they had talked to the Council who made it clear the Jedi weren’t going to send them away. 

Bant had introduced him to the other children and gotten them the last of the evening meal to share. Anakin liked Bant. Mom liked Bant too, and that was more important. The Mon Cala was nice, and she’d been friends with Obi-Wan before everything happened. Maybe she would help rescue him once Master Billaba came back with help. He missed Obi-Wan in the pit of his stomach where he’d missed his mom and still missed Qui-Gon and Jenza. He hated Dooku. He hated the old man who had promised to help them and ruined everything instead. He wished Dooku was dead--

His mom stirred slightly, curling tighter on her grass mat. Anakin shut his eyes tight and counted to ten, trying really hard to let go of his anger like Obi-Wan had shown him so it didn’t burn him up from the inside out. He wasn’t sure it worked--he still hated Dooku like he hated the slave masters on Tatooine--but when Anakin leaned down and kissed his mom on the forehead, she stilled again. The Force went smooth like a freshly leveled sand floor, ready to hold whatever came. 

Anakin closed his eyes and meditated for a few minutes, but all he could think about were the glowing wolf eyes outside the ring of firelight, peering at him. It made his stomach feel weird like he’d drank cold water too fast, so he laid back down close enough to Mom to feel her body heat but far enough away that he didn’t accidentally wake her up. She really needed to sleep.

Anakin pulled the meditation cube from his pocket and turned it over and over in one hand murmuring silently: “I am one with the Force. The Force is with me. I am one with the Force. The Force is with me.” And the prayer wound around him like a shield, and he said it again, over and over for his mom, for Obi-Wan, for himself until he drifted back to sleep.

***

Plo led Depa into  _ The Crucible’s _ small med bay. On a patient bed lay a young knight, Luminara Unduli with her black cap carefully hiding her hair and an ashen look to her green skin. At her side sat an equally young human, Garen Muln, who was seated beside the bed, passed out with his cheek pressed against the blanket and his hand holding hers while a beeping monitor and a powered down med droid stood vigil over them both. Two Jedi, barely knighted, the Force folded around them with a survivor’s grief.

“They escaped in Muln’s Flight Corps fighter with Aayla and the younglings,” Plo answered by way of explanation. “They managed to evade the Republic until they heard my transmission, but Knight Unduli was injured by a droid patrol during a recovery mission. She’s healing, slowly.”

Depa frowned. “Recovery mission?”

Instead of answering, Plo walked to the other side of the med bay and pushed back a cloak hung over the edge of a container in a kind of curtain. Inside what Depa now realized was a crib there lay a tiny toddler with curly black hair and brown cheeks soft with baby fat. He blinked as the light touched him then rocked himself up into a sitting position and peered at the Jedi masters intently.

“This is Caleb. He joined us a few weeks ago from the recovery mission Knight Unduli was injured during. The bounty hunters had gotten there first, killed his parents, but we were able to rescue him before they left the planet.”

“Bounty hunters?”

“The Republic is still testing for Force sensitives and paying bounties for each child brought to Coruscant alive.”

_ Find us. _

_ You must find them, Master. _

The memory of the hooded figure in her vision.  _ Before it’s too late.  _ A warning as well as a command. Allowing the memory of her vision to pass over her, Depa exhaled slowly. “You’ve been looking for them already.”

“Where I can. The Force leads us, but there are so many lost, and the galaxy is vast.” 

Dark eyes wide, Caleb reached one hand out to her. She took it, and when he wrapped a chubby hand around her finger with an iron grip, the Force crystallized. A shatterpoint. 

_ Master, are you listening? _

Oh.

“Yes, I am listening, little one.”

He smiled, still toothless, and she smiled back.

The Force hummed, and a moment later the med bay door slid open, and Nahdar skidded into the room. “Master Plo! Someone’s calling the new ship. Master Hyuang sent me to fetch you.”

Depa and Plo exchanged a glance and more than a little concern in the Force before she slipped her finger free of Caleb’s grasp and ran her hand over his curls. “I will be back, little one.”

He didn’t cry, only watched her and Plo leave the room with wide eyes. 

Aboard The Revenant, Depa activated the recorded message and was surprised to see Obi-Wan’s blue form flickering above the console, speaking into a comm on his wrist. She couldn't tell where he was, but he looked uninjured. Tired.

“This is Obi-Wan Kenobi with a message for Master Billaba. Master, I do not know if you still have  _ The Revenant _ , but if you are seeing this, it means you were all able to get somewhere safe.” He glanced up like he’d sensed something out of the holo’s range then looked back down. 

“The Force has brought me to a place of... relative safety, given the state of the galaxy. I will rejoin you when I can, but I do not dare try to contact you again lest we all be discovered. The surviving Order must be your first priority. Do not look for me. Tell--” He took a breath, and she could see him shaking slightly. “Tell Anakin I am pr… I am sorry. I know it was not the will of the Council that he be trained, but please, Master Billaba. You  _ must  _ train him. Anakin must become a Jedi.” Then he put his arms by his side and bowed low. “May the Force be with you.”

The message flickered out, and Depa looked over the call record and saw it had come from somewhere in the Mandalore system. She shook her head. “Do you think he escaped?"

Plo folded his arms. “Or Dooku let him go.”

“In hopes he'll lead the Separatists to us.”

“Perhaps. But he does not know where we are, and if I recall anything about Kenobi, he will wait until he thinks it is safe to begin to look for us. Even if it takes years.”

Depa ran a hand over her face and down her looped braid. “Anakin will not be pleased."

"No. But knowing his master is safe may ease his mind. And if the Force is guiding us to look for its children, perhaps it will lead us to Kenobi as well."

Depa bowed her head, a headache building behind her eyes as she felt again the grief of all they had lost. It was just as heavy every time she held it, but the edges were blunted from the holding, and every time she allowed herself to feel it, it cut less. This was how they would survive--together, reaching for each other across the dark vastness of the galaxy until the lost were gathered back up. She did not like the idea of one of their own alone, adrift in the galaxy, but if the Force was leading him, Obi-Wan would find his way back to them. 

“We will find them, Depa.” Plo laid a hand on her shoulder, careful not to cut her on his claws, and she knew she would have borne a cut if that were the cost of the real, solid weight of his presence. 

She laid her hand atop his to reassure him back. “I know we will.”

*** 

Obi-Wan ended the call, dropped the comm to the floor of the sun sailer, and ground it under his heel, shattering the casing and demolishing any chance of a return transmission.

Seated at the front of the sun sailer, Dooku leaned back in his chair as he studied Obi-Wan with a predatory look, a Serenno wolf watching its prey through the dark of the pines with glinting yellow eyes. “This is an unexpected turn of events. I never thought you would be one to lie to a member of the Council.”

Obi-Wan shrugged more cavalierly than the expanding hollowness in his chest should have allowed. It hadn't been a lie exactly. As long as Dooku wanted an apprentice, Obi-Wan stood at the mouth of the wolf's cave where the reek of death kept the other predators at bay. If the Jedi knew where he was, they would come running after him, and there would be no deal in the galaxy that would stop the wolf from swallowing them all whole. The Dark was hungry, and it was patient. 

He shrugged. “It was simple enough. I’ve certainly had enough lessons watching  _ you _ .”

Dooku’s face twitched with irritation before smoothing again. “Then if your lessons have already begun, have you decided to take your rightful place as my apprentice?”

The offer again. The hand outstretched. The bond between Sith master and apprentice would be the death of one of them, but it was a bond where Dooku had severed all the others, and the count had watched Obi-Wan himself throw away his only hope of rescue. He was alone.

The realization settled in his chest like a stone and threatened to topple him. His master, gone. The Order, gone. Anakin, gone. Dooku, or the version of him Obi-Wan had hoped for, thrown away. The Dark reached for him with a terrible gravity, calling to the fear and the doubt in him, and he realized it was a simple thing to fall. He had been so close when he fought Maul, when he reached for the Sith seeing stone on Mustafar demanding answers. He could have answers, power--certainty even--if only he would let the Dark would drag him down into that lightless wolf’s den and eat him alive. 

As if sensing the churning doubt, Dooku tilted his head. "Well?" 

Instead of answering, Obi-Wan used the Force to call his helmet from the floor. It drifted up to his hands, and the ambient light of the sun sailor glinted off the visor that held his reflection. The Force had brought him this far, and he was reeling, reeling but still standing. It had brought him to the mouth of the wolf's cave, and the only path out was forward. There was no certainty here, only trust that the Force would keep his feet under him with each step until he saw the light again. Even if it took him somewhere he did not want to go.

Obi-Wan met Dooku's watchful gaze and took his first step. "I think we have work to do. Master."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last interlude! We made it, folks. Thanks so much for sticking with me during this weird middle bit!!! 
> 
> Thematically, the whole interlude is supposed to tie together with Obi-Wan and Depa tracking opposite arcs--Obi-Wan down into Dooku's existential isolation trap and Depa up into reintegration with the Jedi with Anakin in a middle place. Which Witch by Florence and the Machine was just on loop as I edited this because who's a heretic? Literally everyone in the room except maybe Bail Organa, which I think is hilarious. 
> 
> Next chapter will start Part II proper, and I'll be updating the fic description and tags a little to cover some more up to date plot stuff.


	22. The White Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years after their separation, Anakin and Obi-Wan find themselves on very different paths while Sidious moves in the shadows.

**Five Years Later**

It was always dark on Corellia, the heavy clouds and heavier smog from the shipyards overhanging. Canna Vizs, Administrator of the Commerce Guild, made her way through the halls of the Bright Star Shipyards administrative building, where they had been churning out ships ever since the Separatists declared themselves independent. The Republic had signed most of Corellia to exclusive contracts not long after which allowed the Commerce guild to produce out ship after ship of war for a price more than some systems’ annual budget. There was the issue of the treaty and the shaky peace it had ushered in, but Vizs wasn’t worried. It wouldn’t last. Peace never did.

She opened the door to her office and stepped inside. It was quieter in here, the walls bedecked in dark woods and art and crimson velvets designed to demonstrate influence and power to potential clients and to muffle the endless cacophony from outside. But the lights did not automatically turn on as they should have. Grumbling under her breath, she turned to fiddle with the controls with her long, elegant blue hands. 

She certainly didn’t spend enough time in this soot trap for the office to get regular use, maybe one of the wires was faulty. But the staff should have kept up with this most basic of maintenance. Maybe she’d have them all reviewed and fired in the morning. 

A warm breeze reeking of factory fuel wafted over her, and Vizs made a noise of disgust before turning. Who had left the window open? 

Not only was the window open, but an intruder stood in front of a painting, humanoid and dressed in trim black tabbards and a black helmet that entirely hid their head. They blended into the shadows, barely touched by the light spilling from the lamp, and they held their hands behind their back as they regarded some painting on the wall with unsettling ease. No client of hers, certainly.

She growled. “Who are you? Who let you in here?”

The intruder didn’t move. “I let myself in. Please, have a seat.” His voice was low, softer than she expected, and almost warm as if they were discussing a business deal over dinner instead of an office invasion. He tilted his head to one side, and she was suddenly unnerved. 

“You can explain it to the chief of security.” She stormed over to her desk,  reached for the alarm, but the intruder raised his hand, and her office chair hit the back of her legs, and she sat down hard. What on--Vizs grabbed for the drawer with the blaster in it, but he was across the room and standing before her. 

“Come now, my friend, there’s no need for anything so uncivilized.” He sounded almost as if he were smiling. 

Trying not to panic, she grabbed at the communicator on her belt, but it flew from her hand to the intruder’s and he crushed, sparks falling from his gloved fist.

“How did-- What do you want?” she sputtered. 

“Your guild has connections to the Black Sun.” 

She shook her head. Deny everything. That’s what her litigators would tell her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re lying.” The skull-like helmet tilted ever so slightly, and she thought the room might have gotten colder despite the heat of the factory coming through the window.

“I’m not; I swear it.”

“You are.” “You’re well connected in the galaxy, on Coruscant. You stood to benefit from the blockade of Naboo, and you don’t care where your ships go or what they’re used for. You don’t care if they’re used to blockade innocent systems to starve or frighten them into obedience. Your greed and your callousness reek of the Dark Side." He reached out and raised two fingers in front of Vizs’ face. "You will tell me what you know about Darth Maul and the Black Sun.”

“I will tell you what I know about Darth Maul and the Black Sun. They're nothing. Weak. They support our mining operations, help us move cargo we don't want to be taxed or noticed--"

"I know that. What about Darth Maul? His associates?" 

She frowned. She  _ did  _ want to tell him what she knew, but her memory came up blank. I don’t know anybody named Darth.”

“Don’t you? Think harder. Red and black Zabrak, angry."

“I have so many clients; I meet so many people.” She shook her head, and it cleared slightly. Why was she talking to this man? Where the hell were her guards? “What do you want? Money? A ship? I can give you both.”

He fell silent for a moment then let go of her wrist and straightened. “Fortunately for you, you’re not what I’m looking for.”

“What—“

The door chimed, and six guards poured into the room, blasters raised. 

“It took you long enough!” She jolted to her feet and spun the chair around to put an obstacle between her and the spy or whatever he was.

“Halt!” One of the guards ordered.

He raised his hands in the most casual surrender Vizs had ever seen. An explosion boomed in the distance, the flare of red light blinding and concussive sound rattling the windows. She flinched and covered her face, but the window held. 

“Ah. That would be my cue.” 

Red alarm lights and a horrible siren blared through the building. 

Then the intruder was at the window, holding onto the frame with one hand as he leaned out over empty air. He couldn’t think to jump; it was hundreds of feet to the shipyard floor. That would save her the trouble of having him killed and his body disposed of in the incinerators. But she wanted to know who he was behind the helmet. She wanted to make him suffer for his impudence. The reek of burning oil filled the air, and black smoke billowed from the distant fuel reserves. Millions of credits, gone up in smoke. 

She turned her fury on the intruder, but the flickering light of the fire finally illuminated the front of his helmet properly. From the chin of the helmet to the center of the forehead spanned the white imprint of a human hand.

The White Hand.

With a sudden surge of terror, Vizs staggered backward, and the guards hesitated. They’d all heard the stories about Count Dooku’s right hand. None of them wanted to be the first to charge the Separatists' attack hound. 

“Gentleman.” To the guards, he raised two fingers to his temple in a jaunty salute. The distant flames backlit him like some kind of demon. “Madam. My apologies for the mess.” 

The guards surged forward, but he flipped out the window and vanished from sight. Vizs rushed to the window, wanted to see herself that the White Hand was dead. But when she elbowed the guards aside and peered down, there was no sign of the man in black. Only the drone of the alarm and the smoke and sparks of the distant blaze. 

***

Bant lay atop the rise that hid the temple and village from sight, and she used the rifle scope to pan once across the horizon and the various islands and inlets that dotted the landscape. Luminara lay at her side, company for the watch shift, and the Mirialan used a set of binoculars Anakin had repaired to scan for any incoming visitors. 

Plo and Garen were due back any day now with the youngling from Balmorra. A retrieval that far into Republic territory was dangerous, and Bant had tried to go with them, but two was already two too many. And she had a padawan to worry about now--Nahdar, eager to learn, more eager to please. Kit would have liked him. 

Bant’s heart twisted. Not as much as it might have once, but she had lost two masters to untimely deaths. She wouldn’t inflict that on Nahdar. 

Distant shrieks of laughter caught her attention, and she glanced over one shoulder. A group of padawans was scattered through the tall grass desperately trying to round up a young shorgoat that must have escaped the pen. A gaggle of younglings sprinted after them, laughing and shrieking and bobbing in the brown grass after the older children. The goat darted back and forth, evading their dives, then it leaped up one of the stone mounds and stopped on an invisible ledge, precariously balanced. 

Grouping together, the padawans stared up at it. Then a blonde boy blisteringly bright in the Force began climbing after it. Anakin.

“Hmm. Looks like Skywalker is handling it.” Luminara peered through her binoculars with a small smile.

“He does always seem to be in the thick of things, doesn’t he?”

“Obi-Wan rubbed off on him. Master Billaba has her hands full with that one.” 

Bant smiled. For everything that had gone wrong, she still Garen and Luminara. They had lost so many others, had lost Quinlan and Siri and Shaak Ti, but the three of them were still alive. Still together. Obi-Wan too was out there somewhere, looking for them. Force willing, he would join them soon. “Just wait until you get a padawan, ‘Nara. Then you’ll be the one chasing after some child’s wild ideas.”

Luminara’s smile faded. “If we are still taking padawans by then.”

Bant frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Nahdar was the last of the younglings with their own lightsaber. Our numbers grow every year, and there is no way to get the new younglings kyber crystals.”

Bant blinked her large eyes and glanced back at Anakin, who was halfway up the rock face. “Are you certain?”

“It is simply too dangerous. The Republic has locked down Illum, Dantooine, Jedha--”

She jerked her head back to her friend. “Jedha is supposed to be neutral territory.” 

“It was.” Luminara finally lowered her binoculars and shook her head regretfully. “I heard Masters Masona and Nema talking last night. The Republic offered Jedha famine relief that came part and parcel with military protection to ‘keep the peace.’” She bared her teeth, and the Force twisted ever so slightly in grief behind the Mirialan’s shields. “That’s supposed to be us, Bant. We’re meant to be helping people, and we can’t even help ourselves.”

The Mon Cala sat up, legs crossed, and laid a webbed hand on Luminara’s shoulder. “I know. But we can only do what we can. Even if… if none of this had happened, we could still not help everyone.”

“I knew there would be hard choices as a Jedi,” Luminara said slowly, the struggle to speak her heart evident in her face. “I was prepared to make them, but this…” She didn’t know how to be a Jedi like this. None of them did. Clenching her jaw, Luminara looked away for a moment to master herself. Then she raised her binoculars again. “The Holocron has kyber in it.”

Bant inhaled sharply. That was… that was true. That was why the holocrons could only be opened by a Jedi. But taking the kyber out of a Holocron would destroy the knowledge inside, and Jocasta would fight tooth and nail before she let anyone dismantle what was left of her archives. 

“Do you think they’ll do it?”

Anakin had chased the goat down to the ground where Nahdeer and Kalifa pounced on it and collared it with a grass rope. The younglings cheered, and Anakin swung Caleb onto his shoulders with a victorious raise of his fists. The boy laughed and raised his own small fists in the air. Those boys would be nothing but trouble when Depa took the Dume boy on after Anakin. If they were still taking padawans by the time Caleb was old enough.

Luminara didn’t look at her. “I don’t know. But whatever the Council decides, things are changing.”

Then the padawans were shouting again, and Anakin took off through the grass, a gaggle of screaming younglings in tow.  The Mon Cala knight shook her head and turned back to her watch. “I think things have been changing for a while, Luminara.”

“I know. I just hope it’s for the better. I am tired of hiding, Bant.” 

“Me too.” Bant scanned the horizon. “Me too.”

***

All spaceport diners were the same—by design, of course, to be of some comfort and familiarity to the traders who rarely returned to one planet more than once or twice a year. By the same logic, all covert contacts tended to be alike as well. It made them harder to identify after the fact. So Obi-Wan stepped into the spaceport diner on Felucia and was hit by the faux familiar wave of grease and grill, and scanning the room for his contact, he spied a Tholothian female slouched in a corner booth away from the front windows and holding a cup of caff that looked like it had gone cold a while ago. The Force hummed with nervousness around her, eagerness and worry, but no ill intent.

Obi-Wan slid into the booth across from the woman, leaned back, and crossed his legs to give any observers the appearance of a casual acquaintance. “My apologies for keeping you waiting. Frell, I presume?”

A fake name, certainly, but he knew the value of keeping one’s identity to one’s self. Especially in the information business. 

Frell looked him over with a sharp eye. She was nervous but canny. Whatever she had, it would be worth the detour. Finished with her assessment, she shook her head. “You’re not what I expected.”

He smiled and hitched one shoulder. “What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know--” She raised an eyebrow ridge. “--Maybe the masked demon that routed the Black Sun syndicate from Mustafar to Ord Mantell.”

Obi-Wan waved a hand dismissively. He preferred not to talk about that if he could help it. “Yes, well, I’ve found others’ expectations tend to work to my advantage. Now I’d love to chat with a lady as charming as yourself, but Hondo said this was important, and I do have other places to be.”

She flicked a data chip across the table, purposefully sending it wide, but it flew straight to his palm. 

He flashed his most charming smile to hide his irritation. “Now, my dear, it’s rude to test your contacts.”

Frell shrugged. “Just making sure. Usually, people like you send proxies.”

He held up the chip between two fingers and let the hard interior light shine through its fine circuitry. “And what’s so important you wouldn’t trust it to a proxy?”

She clasped her hands on the table, clenching and unclenching them, her sudden nervousness leaking into the Force. Glancing once over her shoulder, Frell said. “Project Reforge. It’s some top-secret program running straight out of the Chancellor’s office, but it’s been a nightmare to get anything on it. All the files are redacted, some are just deleted or obviously fake, but they’re moving cargo. Not a lot, not often, but enough they don’t want anybody looking at it.”

“And what is this cargo?” Obi-Wan frowned, sliding the chip into his sleeve. 

“Dunno for sure. Some old Mando tech, some artifacts, some illegal wildlife maybe. But it’s from all over, and it’s just enough that they’re covering it up.”

“How did you find it?”

“None of your business.” 

“As you wish. Black market smuggling seems below the Chancellor’s interests, but who knows these days. I’ll look into it.” He laid one arm across the booth back. “And the price?”

Frell clenched her hands ever so slightly then pulled a bit of flimsi out of her pocket and slid it face down across the table. “I’ve got a cousin in jail. Picked by the CIS’ troops two years ago, but he was just trying to scrounge up enough to keep his kids fed. He doesn’t deserve to rot for it.”

He raised one eyebrow then picked up the flimsi and glanced at the information--name, prison, sentence. Dooku’s iron-fisted crusade to secure the Outer Rim from pirates had certainly assuaged the fears of the Separatist planets, but it was not without its body count. Obi-Wan ought to know. “Piracy is a steep crime these days.”

“I know. But there’s more on Project Reforge where that came from. If you get my cousin out, I’ll get you whatever you want to know. Manifests, ship numbers, pilots...” 

Frell was telling the truth. Not quite all of it--Obi-Wan imagined this cousin had a body count of his own, maybe some other crimes she’d neglected to mention--but enough. More research was in order before he actually tried to get the man released, but if this contact could get him a look into Project Reforge and the Republic’s black box programs, it might be a worthwhile trade. He nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

She relaxed and looked away. “There is… one other thing.”

He gestured for her to go on.

“I came all the way from the Mid Rim for this. If this cold war finally boils over, I’m not leaving Republic space to deliver what I find.”

Obi-Wan flashed his teeth. “Don’t worry, my dear. If that’s the case, I will find you.”

He knew his words had not been a comfort when Frell smiled humorlessly. “And the White Hand always gets his quarry. Thanks for picking up the tab.” And Frell slipped from the booth and the dinner and disappeared into the spaceport crowd. Obi-Wan waited a few more moments then made his own exit to his ship. He had another appointment to keep, and Dooku would take much less kindly to being kept waiting. 

***

With a splitting headache, Depa emerged from Mace’s hut to squint into the orange sunset. The Council had been deliberating since before dawn about the latest development in the Order’s new way of life. Well, not really a new development. Their lack of access to kyber crystals had been present from the moment they’d left the Temple on Coruscant behind, but Dooku and Valorum’s Cold War. Jocasta emerged right behind her, and the two women held eye contact for a long moment before the archivist nodded and went her own way. 

Depa shook her head and strode into the village before anyone else could emerge and restart the discussion on whether or not to dismantle the Holocron.

_ “How are they to defend themselves? _

_ Jocasta crossed her arms. “Our history is what makes us who we are. Even with Avee and Professor Hyuang's help, we've barely begun to scrape the surface of the knowledge inside. Without it, we will be lost.” _

_ “Maybe it is time to make new traditions,” said Master Nema. “The galaxy is mere months away from a war between the Republic and the Separatists, and we will be caught in the middle.” _

_ “And how many changes will we make until the only thing that marks us as Jedi is our weapons? We are not warriors only. Master Yoda--” _

_ “Enough.” _

_ The Council quieted. Depa dragged a slow breath and shook her head. “Master Yoda is not here. Even if we dismantle the Holocron, that will only give us a limited number of kyber crystals. How do we decide which younglings get them? Do we save them for the knights who lost their sabers in the purge? For padawans who reach knighthood?” Depa looked to Mace, who waited for her to finish, and she gave him a small smile of gratitude. “If we must try to be Jedi without one or the other, I wouldn't erase any more of our history or our knowledge to gain a few more blades. War or no, the Holocron stays as it is.”  _

Depa made her way between the beehive stone huts, passing Shmi who was helping Nahdar and Kalifa and Anakin fix the goat pen, and the padawans were listening to whatever she was telling them with careful attention. The Jedi master approached and waited, and Shmi paused in her work, wiped her sweat from her brow, and smiled. “Depa.”

“Miss Skywalker.” Depa bowed then smiled at her padawan. “Anakin. When you are finished, meet me at the training ground.”

“I’m done now.” He glanced at his mother then at his friends.

Shmi nodded for him to go on, and he bounded to Depa’s side. “Lightsaber practice?”

Depa smiled at his enthusiasm, and master and apprentice made their way to the edge of the village where a great circle of dirt had been packed down by five years of studious feet. After a few warm-up katas, she handed her lightsaber to Anakin, and he began working his way through the forms while Depa watched. He swung and leaped, flipping and spinning in powerful loops from one end of the training circle to the other. He was skilled, had already overcome his education gap by leaps and bounds to land solidly ahead of his peers in saber skills. His strength in the Force was staggering, which made sense given his origin, but his ease with the Force and his self-discipline were not quite in step with the other padawans, but each pilgrim walked at their own pace. 

Anakin landed solidly at the end of his last form, holding the blade in guard position for a long moment before he turned the saber off. He looked to Depa, and she rewarded his hard work with a smile and a nod. “Well done, padawan.”

He beamed and bowed, hands together. “Thank you.” 

“Come sit with me, Anakin. I have something I need to discuss with you before the evening meal.”

He handed her lightsaber back to her and knelt with his hands resting on his knees. “What are we talking about?”

Smiling slightly, she knelt beside him. “Meditation first.”

He exhaled dramatically, and his bangs tousled in the breeze. “How am I supposed to meditate if I know we have to talk when we’re done?”

“Hmm.” She closed her eyes. “Perhaps the Force will show you.”

For a half-second, he grumbled under his breath before he too began to meditate. 

They sat together, the fabric of the Force gently bearing them up. Anakin floundered a bit beside her, trying to steady himself as if he were in a hammock and the intricate ties were catching at him, but she waited patiently, offered a steady point to fix on as he steadied and came to rest beside her. After some time, the third small presence joined them. Caleb sat down beside Depa, his bright presence orbiting around her and Anakin with fascination as the not-quite-six-year-old tried to meditate with them. 

“Hey, Caleb,” Anakin whispered. “How’d you sneak off?”

“Wanted to see you. What are you doing?”

“Meditating. We gotta be quiet now, okay?”

“Okay.”

Depa didn’t need to open her eyes to know Caleb was mimicking her and Anakin’s pose, though he struggled to sit still for long. Anakin was beginning to squirm too, so after a moment to let the boys make an earnest attempt, Depa inhaled and opened her eyes. “Hello, Caleb.”

He grinned. “Hi, Mast’r. What are you doing out here?”

“Meditating on the Force, youngling.”

“Why?”

Anakin cleared his throat. “You wanted to talk to me, Master?”

Depa gestured for Caleb to return to the village, and the boy sighed and ran off. He was a good boy, but he had enough questions to fill a Holocron of his own. Once he was gone, she turned back to her current padawan. “Your lightsaber work has come a long way. I am proud of you, Anakin.”

Beaming, Anakin sat taller. “Does this mean I get my own lightsaber?” 

Better to tell him the truth now. Depa shook her head. “I am sorry, padawan. The Republic has blockaded Jedha, which means there is no way for you to get a kyber crystal right now. Perhaps in a few years--”

He sprang to his feet, fists clenched and eyes wide. “What? That’s not fair!” 

“Sit down, Anakin.”

“No! It’s my turn for a lightsaber. I’ve waited for five years!”

She should have expected this reaction. She had in a way, but she had hoped Anakin would be mature enough to understand. “Why is a lightsaber so important to you?”

“Because I’m a Jedi!”

She waited. Anakin floundered, sputtering a little as he struggled with his thoughts, but she held back the urge to spring to save him. Finally, he spat out an answer. “I’m a Jedi, and a Jedi has to have a lightsaber. It’s their  _ life.” _

“Perhaps it should not be.”

He scowled, the image of teenage petulance. “You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me, Anakin. I am listening.”

He laced his fingers in his hair and tugged like he could force his thoughts to align. “You have to have a lightsaber to be a Jedi. We’re warriors. We can’t fight the Sith without them.”

“If a weapon is our first choice in a conflict, then we have already failed as Jedi.”

“But I need to be strong. And Nahdeer and Ayala and the others all have theirs!”

“Strong, Anakin? Do you not think you have learned strength? Everything the Force has led you through has made you who you are now. You do not need a lightsaber to prove that.” 

“But I have to be stronger!”

Depa frowned. There was something he was not saying, bubbling just beneath the surface with the large emotions he always struggled to comprehend and direct. She could see the shatterpoints in him still, the hairline fractures that shot through him like cracked ice always just above his heart and behind his eyes. They had always been there, always would be. “Why, Anakin?”

“I’ve… I've seen it.” He let go of his hair and hung his head. “In my dreams.”

Oh.

“Anakin,” she said slowly. “You promised to tell me if the dreams returned.”

A spark of fear flared up in him, and he lurched forward. “No, not those dreams. They’re… they’re different. It’s like, like when the Force tells you something bad is gonna happen right before it does, and all you have time to do is react. Just try to get out of the way.”

Depa pressed her lips together. It was good that the searching dreams were not back. The last thing any of them wanted was to deal with a Sith lord, but premonitions… her lineage had never been plagued by them, and they often did as much as harm as good. 

“I see the village on fire. I see.” Anakin closed his eyes tight like he could shut out the images that had danced in his head. “I see my mom. She’s hurt real bad. She’s dying, and I can’t help her.” 

“The future is always in motion, Anakin,” she said softly.

“But what if it does happen? I could stop it. But I need a lightsaber.”

Fear rang in the Force. Fear of loss. Fear of suffering. He was floundering in it, and she reached out to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I understand your fear, Anakin. I feel it myself, every day. But having a lightsaber will not make the dreams stop. You must not allow fear to rule you.”

He went red in the face, his anger seething inside him like a summer storm, and it struck like lightning, grounding to the first hurt it could find. He sprang to his feet, knocking her hand from his shoulder. “Obi-Wan would have understood!”

Depa did not flinch. Anakin’s regret burst like a thunderhead as soon as the words left his mouth but he didn’t back down. “Obi-Wan would have taken me to get my crystal, but you left him behind! And now he’s lost, and he'll never ever find us!”

She would take it back if she could have, but regret did not change the past. Neither would getting angry with Anakin. “Are you finished?” she asked quietly. 

Anakin was bright red from shouting now, full of shame, and still, he couldn’t back down. So he spun on his heel and stormed off into the tall grass, disappearing into the waving grey-green blades and leaving Depa to sigh and cross her legs as she sought answers in the Force, alone at the edge of the village.

***

The comm room was dim with red light, seeping the Dark Side like a cold draft. The apprentice knelt, head bowed, two bulky arms resting on his knee. His voice rumbled deep in his chest and echoed in the small room. “You sent for me, my master?”

The blue holo skipped and jumped, and the cloaked figure on it went static for a moment before a silky voice played over the comm. “Yes, my apprentice. I have a mission for you.”

The apprentice raised his head and peered up at that hooded face. How long he had waited to hear that. “A mission, my lord?”

“War is at hand. It is time to remind the imposter and his Hand who the real Sith are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Arc II!!
> 
> It's been five years since the end of the interlude. The Republic and the Separatists are locked in a cold war of planets flipping allegiances and building up their armies. What everyone has been up to will be discussed more in future chapters, but   
> > Obi-Wan has been chasing a bunch of dead end leads on Sidious since he lost all the data from the Mustafar castle when Avee when with Anakin.   
> > Anakin has been training with Depa while the Jedi carefully build their numbers and their way of life back.   
> > Sidious has been doing what Sidious does, which is make life difficult for everybody else. 
> 
> Lothal does still have kyber crystal! They just don't know it's there because Jocasta can only sort through 10,000 years of data so fast, and I imagine Holocrons don't have a great search function. 
> 
> References:   
> Frell is from the Star Wars 1 comic that came out January 2020, where she's a Pathfinder for the Rebel Alliance.   
> Canna Visz is an OC and a terrible person.   
> Obi-Wan's title "The White Hand" is absolutely a Lord of the Rings reference to the servants of Saruman, who wore white hands prints on their armor as a kind of coat of arms. 
> 
> Obi-Wan's White Hand get-up looks like   
> [https://www.deviantart.com/dywa/art/Sith-assassin-363450871](url)


	23. The Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin leaves Lothal with old friends, while Obi-Wan and Dooku move to protect Queen Amidala from an old enemy.

Anakin waited until the fire had burned down entirely before he rose. 

“Ani?” Mom. 

He froze then twisted slightly to smile at her. “I’m stirring the fire. Go back to sleep.”

She stretched out a hand, and he came back to take and hold it gently. She ran her thumb over his knuckles and smiled. “You’re a good boy, Anakin. I am so proud of you.”

He flushed. “Love you, Mom.”

“I love you too.”

He pressed a kiss and a gentle sleep suggestion to her forehead, and she blinked sleepily once before she laid back down and drifted off. He brushed her hair back from her face. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.” Then he stirred the fire, woke Avee from her sun-powered charging dock, and stole from the house. Out in the cool night air, he took a deep breath and folded the Force and the shadows around himself until he was well hidden then he snuck past the patrol to the foot of the first stone mound. There he used the Force to move a boulder aside, revealing the pack he’d hidden the day before. It had just enough supplies to get him to the city—he felt bad taking anything more. 

Anakin shouldered the pack and glanced back at the village. He had to go. He had to. He couldn’t let his dreams be real. 

Stealing back into the village and evading the patrol, he hot-wired one of the speeders—the jankiest of them. He wouldn’t steal the good speeders—and pointed it into the dark toward the nearest city. 

Avee beeped a question, and Anakin nodded. “Yeah, we’ll be back. We just have to find Obi-Wan first.” 

He swung his leg over the speeder, Avee settled in front of him, and together they sped off into the night. 

*** 

The Ginivex-class starfighter set down on the landing platform just outside the Parliament building, the Raxus sky grey and clouded as rain sputtered against the heat and humidity. The ship folded its artful red fan down to a long blade, and Obi-Wan exited his ship. The helmet kept the rain from his face, but he could still feel the rain and clinging heat of the Raxus summers. A few attendants working the platforms glanced at him then looked down at the sight of The White Hand. 

Giving them a wide berth, Obi-Wan entered the parliament building and went straight to Dooku’s office where he found the CIS’ head of state on a holo conference call. The office was carefully decorated, the dark woods and fabrics designed to project stability and power--to impress. The air trembled faintly with the Dark Side, just enough that a non-Force sensitive might feel only mild intimidation. Just enough to remind Obi-Wan where he was. The White Hand approached then went down on one knee, head lowered. Dooku glanced at him then returned to his conversation. “See that the fleet is ready to be deployed should the Republic step out of line, General Jin.”

The general from Serenno nodded. “Yes, your grace.” 

“General Grievous.”

“Yes, my lord?” The cyborg’s voice was a harsh rasp, and Obi-Wan gritted his teeth and kept his face neutral. 

“How are the preparations on Falleen and Kashyyyk proceeding?” 

“On schedule, my lord. Should the Republic attack, we will be mobilized at a moment's notice to crush them.”

“Take care, Grievous. I’m sure you’ve heard Queen Amidala’s numerous thoughts on the matter, but she is right about one thing: we must not be the ones to fire the opening shot.” 

Grievous bowed slightly. “Yes, my lord.” 

“Dismissed.” Dooku waved a hand to end the call, and a holomap of the galaxy replaced the army commanders. Then, “You’re late.” 

Obi-Wan suppressed a smirk. “Late, my lord? I recall your instructions were only to return as soon as possible.”

The count only gave him an exasperated look before he folded his arms and looked to the holomap. The projection flickered through several views, close-ups of hyperlanes, cross-cuts of border sectors, each casting deep shadows over Dooku’s sharp face. 

Necessary dues observed, Obi-Wan rose to his feet and removed his helmet. “So, how goes the cold war?”

“As ever.”

Obi-Wan snorted and took up a spot across the holoprojector. “That badly then? I’m still not sure about Grievous.”

“Your cloak and dagger tactics may have worked against the pirates and the Black Sun, but we need Grievous.” Dooku tapped a command on the console, and gold lights lit across the blue galaxy like signal lights. These must have been the army and fleet movements he had been discussing with the generals. “We have limited options for generals who handle a war on the scale we’re facing. Unless you’re volunteering your service.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said dryly. He crossed his arms, helmet dangling from his right hand. “Because I’m not busy enough, let me run a war for you.” 

“Watch your tone,  _ apprentice _ .”

The warning didn’t have any real bite to it, but it was enough to know Dooku was in short temper today. The count hadn't thrown lightning at him in a while, but Obi-Wan wasn't in the mood for a lesson, so he bowed his head. “Apologies, master.” 

Placated, Dooku turned off the console and folded his arms. “Was your mission successful?” 

“It was.” He took an attention posture, hands clasped behind his back, heels of his boots together. “Corellia is making ships as fast as they can get the metal to smelt them. In two years, the Republic will have doubled its fleet. Or rather, they would have. There was a bit of an accident with the central fuel tanks that may slow production significantly.”

“Hmm.” The Sith Lord strode to his desk. “What a tragedy.”

“Yes, especially to the guild’s pocketbook,” Obi-Wan said dryly. “At least no one was hurt.”

“How fortunate, though I recall telling you Visz removal would be more effective."

Obi-Wan kept his face blank. "The Guild would just replace her. It will cause them more problems to deal with the mess."

"Then let’s hope your sabotage was thorough.” Dooku curled his lip back in clear disapproval. “But I have a mission for you that may be more to your liking. We’ve had news from the Core.”

“Oh? Good news or bad?”

“Any news is good news that can be turned to your own advantage.”

Obi-Wan looked past Dooku to the window where the rain streaked down the glass in long rivulets. Always hunting for the advantage. Always looking for the upper hand instead of extending it. It had been exhausting those first few years, trying to keep up with Dooku’s machinations, let alone outmaneuver him. Now it was almost second nature. The wind was picking up outside, and a few aides sprinted across the grounds with their datapads over their heads like umbrellas. Shaking his head, Obi-Wan turned his attention back to Dooku and gestured with one hand. “Well, then let’s try it with a little optimism at least.”

Dooku gave him an unimpressed look but continued. “Nute Gunray’s fourth trial just found him innocent of all charges. He’s reclaimed all his former holdings and his position as viceroy of the Trade Federation.”

Obi-Wan stared for a moment then gritted his teeth, and the Dark Side reached for him. “That’s absurd.”

“Indeed, but not unexpected.”

“I knew the Republic was corrupt, but I had held out hope their courts might at least be  _ functional _ ." He shook his head. "He’ll be after Queen Amidala then.” 

"He is also the most direct link we have to Sidious.” 

Obi-Wan frowned. The fact that Gunray was still alive instead of dead in a cell somewhere meant Sidious still had plans for the Nemodian and the Trade Federation, and now that the Viceroy wasn’t in the Republic’s loving custody… “The Viceroy and I may need to have a meeting of our own.”

“You’ll get your chance at the Viceroy soon enough, my friend.” Dooku waved a hand dismissively. “For now, Amidala is our priority. She is on Naboo now, and I have sent word that you will be joining her guard.”

Surprised, Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. The queen and her pro-peace coalition had been clashing with Dooku for the better part of two years. Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. “Are you sending me because I'm supposed to protect her or because you want to say you put in a good effort?" He'd played fast and loose with Dooku's orders before, and his master had tolerated it as long as the overall goal was accomplished, but if Dooku wanted Amidala dead, he'd have to get another assassin.

A sardonic smile turned up the corner of Dooku's mouth. “Perceptive, Obi-Wan, but despite our disagreements, she will bring more systems to our cause alive than martyred.” He folded his arms. “I suggest you follow orders for once.”

The Dark Side drew close around the two men like it was holding its breath. 

“Have I ever failed you before, my lord?”

“Never,” Dooku acceded. 

“Then I see no reason to start now.” The White Hand slid his helmet on and left the room. 

***

When Anakin reached the city, he fixed up the speeder with a few spare parts out of a dumpster behind a mechanic shop then sold it to the mechanic for enough credits to get off-world to the next system. Not much but he and Obi-Wan had gotten further on less. 

With Avee at his shoulder, he made his way to the spaceport and started hunting for a cheap-looking freighter. Anything too badly disrepaired meant the captain might take any job he could get, which Anakin couldn’t afford to get mixed up in. Anything too nice meant he couldn’t afford it or could risk getting kidnapped, and he hadn’t come this far to end up back with the Hutts. 

Of course, if he’d had a lightsaber, he could have gotten a ride on any of them just fine.

Guilt panged in his chest. He hadn’t meant to yell at Master Depa like that. She just didn’t understand how badly he needed a lightsaber. He’d waited so long; he’d  _ earned  _ it. And now that he was dreaming again, he needed it. He needed it so bad, his chest ached with the fear of his dreams. They weren’t the Sith-looking dreams like he’d had before Lothal, but they always ended with fire and blood and crying and a single black tower jutting into a purple sky. Whatever it meant, he hated that tower. He wouldn’t let it get his mom or Depa or Caleb or Ahsoka or anybody else. 

If they wouldn’t give him a lightsaber to protect the village with, he’d have to make sure the danger followed him away from Lothal.

“Hey, Skywalker.”

At the sound of his name, he froze and whirled. A Mon Cala leaned against the wall, a traveler’s cloak pulled over her head and a relaxed air about her.

He blinked. “Bant?”

She’d been padawans with Obi-Wan a long, long time ago. Before the galaxy tipped over and scattered all the Jedi like sand jacks in the wind. She was quick, determined, and a little sad, but she had some good stories about Obi-Wan, but why was she  _ here? _

The Mon Cala smiled lopsidedly from the shadows. “You’re thinking so loud, I could hear you from two blocks over.”

Oops. Anakin slammed his shields up and sent out a command in the Force for everyone to look away. A man jostled him the next moment and passed by without a backward glance. Then Anakin slunk over to the alley and gave her an accusing look. “What are you doing here?”

“Following you.” She didn’t have to say it like it was so obvious.

He scowled. “Why, so you could get me in even more trouble with Depa?”

The mottled orange knight shook her head. “No. Your grandmaster noticed you leaving and asked us to look after you.”

Oh. “Mace sent you after me? Why didn’t he just stop me?”

She shrugged. “Sounded like he understood why you were leaving, and he asked us to bring you back in one piece.”

Anakin leaped out of her reach, and Avee followed. “I’m not going back.”

“We’re not asking you too,” said a new voice. Anakin spun toward the newcomer and came eye-to-eye with Nahdar’s great black pupils. The older padawan smiled and put his webbed hands on his hips. “We’re coming with you.”

“What?”

“If you’re going to find Obi-Wan, we can help.”

Anakin frowned. If they weren’t going to try to drag him back, he could use the help. It’d be safer jumping from ship to ship too since both Mon Cala had lightsabers. “Okay. But I only have enough money for my passage, so we might have to stowaway.”

“I think we can manage that,” Bant said with a smile. She grabbed two satchels from behind a crate and handed one to her padawan before putting on her own. “Where do we start?”

Anakin scanned the spaceport for a new target--a large, jumpable freighter in the middle of moving cargo. There. He pointed. “That one.”

“All right, but first. What’s the plan, Anakin?” Nahdar crossed his arms. “Master Kenobi has been out there for five years and hasn’t found us. What makes you think you can find him?”

“We were a team, okay? I’ll find him.”

Bant raised a webbed hand in a calming gesture. “We will find him. But we need a place to start looking. You must have had somewhere in mind when you took off.”

Anakin frowned. “Well, the way I see it, Obi-Wan’s been out there for five years, so we need to find somebody he might have talked to. And I know just the lady we need.” 

“And who is that?”

He glanced at the ships and spied a freighter loading up big crates of cargo. The yellow paint was chipped and faded but the engine intakes looked as good as new, which meant the captain cared. With a cargo hold that large, they could avoid any patrols or workers. That was their ride. 

“Come on.” He jumped up the side of the building, using a fire escape ladder to catch himself and make another jump to the roof. The master and padawan followed close behind. Once they were all up, he took off along the flat roofs, leaping from roof to roof until they reached the warehouse where the cargo trolley was running back and forth from. Gripping the edge of the roof above the door, Anakin pushed his torso off the edge and dangled head down to peer inside. 

A couple of Pykes stood marking off boxes on a manifest, and he could just spy the route on top of the datapad. Perfect. A second cargo trolley picked up a crate and rolled toward the warehouse exit. 

Anakin flopped back up and waved to the Mon Cala Jedi. “All right. That’s our ride.” 

“Oh, I see. Clever.” And Nahdar tapped his forehead in a knowing gesture before he leaned over the edge. As the whine of the trolley passed below, the three Jedi leaped onto the top of the crate and fell flat on their backs. The trolley wheeled them into the ship's hold and stacked their crate amid a pile of others. Once the trolley trundled away, Nahdar raised his head. “That was…easy.” 

Bant made an amused noise in her throat. “I think the hard part is getting off at the right stop, padawan.”

“Ah.” 

They lay perfectly still as the Pykes loaded the last of the cargo and the huge bay doors slowly closed, plunging the hold into a dimness lit only by pale green emergency lights. The ship engines rumbled, and slight inertia held them in place as they blasted up and out of the atmosphere and into hyperspace. Then the padawans sat up and stretched, and Nahdar offered a grin. “So, Padawan Skywalker. Where is this estimable ship taking us?”

Anakin grinned back. “You ever been to Naboo?” 

***

The White Hand entered the sunny throne room of the Naboo monarchy, helmet tucked under his arm. Queen Amidala, just beginning her third term as ruler, sat on the throne bedecked in her traditional red gown and flanked by two handmaidens. A sting of deja vu struck him as he approached the throne and the woman seated on it. The last time he had been here, he had been freshly shorn of his padawan braid and his master. That Obi-Wan had been lost in a haze of grief and anger he barely knew how to hold, but he'd stood in the throne room with Anakin, the pair of lost boys trying to land on their feet. Neither of them hadn’t been listening at all when Amidala took the call from Palpatine announcing the Jedi Council's treachery. 

Then the world had ended a second time. 

Obi-Wan stopped the appropriate distance from the throne and bowed deeply. “Your majesty.”

She bowed her head, and the sunlight glittered off her elaborate headdress. “Welcome to Naboo, Master Kenobi.” 

He straightened and glanced at the two handmaidens and recognized them—Sabé and Yané. He nodded to them as well. It had gotten easier to tell them apart over the years. Queen Amidala gestured to an empty chair that looked as if it had been left out for that specific purpose. Obi-Wan seated himself, helmet rested on his knee. He was wearing the sharp white suit specifically for his more public missions—all clean lines and careful layers meant to seamlessly move him through the upper echelons of galactic politics—a white knight come to serve. It was an illusion of course; he hadn't been a knight in a long time, and he'd accepted that without complaint, but the blaster resistant weave came in handy. 

The queen leaned back on her throne, still an imposing presence for a nineteen-year-old. She wasn’t Force-sensitive, but the Force hung around her with a certainty that Obi-Wan found reassuring. She had become a symbol of the Separatist movement—a young ruler who had thrown off the greed and corruption of the Core to let her people determine their own destiny. When the queen spoke, she had relaxed the deep royal accent for something closer to her normal speaking voice. “I assume you are aware of Nute Gunray’s recent pardon.”

“And his reinstatement as Viceroy, your majesty. My master believes he and the Republic may attempt to assassinate you to provoke the Separatists to war.” 

She waved a hand dismissively, her white nail polish catching the light. “It will hardly be the first time someone has tried to kill me over politics, Obi-Wan. Surely you are needed elsewhere in these uncertain times.” 

“I am afraid Count Dooku disagrees—” 

“Hardly surprising.”

“—and I  _ must _ defer to his judgment.” He smiled good-naturedly. The queen was aware of his identity under the helmet, but like the rest of the galaxy, she thought Obi-Wan and Dooku were still Jedi. It was easier to let them think it, even if made his stomach burned to think they believed a Jedi could do the things he had done. 

Still smiling, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “And to be blunt, I’d rather you stayed alive to give my master the runaround.” 

As long as people like Padme were around, the Sith guiding the CIS would still be bound by some moral compass, and Obi-Wan would cut down a thousand assassins to keep it that way. 

“Careful, Obi-Wan.” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You sound one of my friends."

“I would consider that a great honor, your majesty." Now, with your permission, your majesty.” He rose to his feet and slid on his helmet. The sunlight dimmed to a red glow, washing the throne room in crimson. “Now with your permission, I'd like to get acquainted with your security.” 

***

Caedus input the coordinates from his master—a little estate not far from Theed that would serve as the staging ground for the mission. It was vital they were successful. The future of his master's plans--and his own future--depended on it. 

As the sleek stealth ship slipped from orbit to hyperspace, the apprentice folded his four arms across his chest and looked out the viewport. He wore the same dismal black as all the other Reforged. No sign he had clawed his way to the apprentice's seat with his own strength. The discontent in his stomach rumbled up into his broad chest and past his teeth with a growl, and the Dark Side whispered in his ear. 

If only he succeeded in this mission, he would have power unlimited, and the other Reforged would grovel at his feet. 

The Dark Side thickened in the small ship, and he spoke to it. “I am the true apprentice, and once I kill the queen, Lord Sidious will see that the  _ spares  _ are not needed."

Then the stars lengthed to the white streaks of hyperspace, and the ship was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rendezvous on Naboo, here we come. Unfortunately this is about where everything hits the fan before it starts getting better but I have everyone's happy ending all mapped out!! It will happen. It will happen. 
> 
> Because fashion, Obi-Wan’s White Hand outfit but imagine it in all white  
> https://star-wars-fashion.tumblr.com/post/160896075545/outfit-for-anakin-skywalker-visions-of-the
> 
> Caedus is a Sith name, Latin for "carnage." I know it's Jacen's Sith name, but it's perfect, I promise.


	24. The Convergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old friends and new enemies collide. How many secret passages can one palace have?

Depa knelt at the mouth of the Lothal temple, arms crossed, waiting for Mace to emerge from inside. Early morning light shone over the plains, and a Loth cat chittered somewhere in the bowing brown grass. 

Anakin had vanished in the night along with a broken down speeder and Bant and Nahdar in tow. Depa shook her head. After her padawan’s display on the training field, she had wondered how long it would take him to run away to look for Kenobi. Even after five years of separation, Anakin idolized and idealized the knight and probably thought Kenobi could avert whatever haunted his dreams. Brave. Brave and foolish. 

Soft footsteps caught her attention, and she raised her head as Mace emerged from the depths of the temple. She sighed and slumped forward, hands rested on her thighs and elbows akimbo. “Master.”

He knelt beside her, a stable anchor point compared to her swirling thoughts. His missing eye was long healed over in a faded scar, but a small brown eyepatch covered the socket. He turned his face to the sun and they sat in silence for a long moment before he spoke. “Depa. You’re up early.”

“Hmm. Where’s my padawan?”

“The same place as Knight Erin and her padawan, I imagine.”

Depa raised an eyebrow. “And when are they bringing him back?”

“Probably once they find Kenobi.”

The Jedi master shook her head. She suspected Anakin might try to leave, just as she suspected Bant would leap at the chance to find her friend. But... “If Plo hasn’t found him in five years, and he hasn’t responded to the beacon, it’s possible Kenobi may not want to be found.”

A Loth cat emerged from the grass and blinked its round eyes at the Jedi pair then skittered closer. Mace raised one hand, and the cat darted closer to run its head under his fingers. The Loth cats were half-domesticated already thanks to the padawans and younglings relentless efforts. A few more years and the animals would practically be house cats. Mace threaded his fingers through its long coarse fur, and it purred. 

“Shmi is worried about him.”

Mace didn’t answer, just listened and scratched the cat beneath its chin as it leaned into his palm. 

Depa sighed. “He would have gone regardless of what we did to stop him, but I fear that by going, he’s taken the danger with him.”

“Hmm.” Mace frowned. “You never had premonitions.” 

The Loth cat walked over his thighs to nuzzle his other hand, purring slightly. Depa smiled. “No, that was never my forte.” Her smile faded. “If we are found here, by Dooku, by the Republic… I fear we made the wrong choice about the Holocron.” 

He was still for a moment. Then, “All the lightsabers in the galaxy couldn’t save us before. We will never be safe. Not from danger. Not from grief.” He laid his hand on her shoulder, a familiar gesture that steadied her. “Don’t let your heart be troubled, Depa. He will come back to you.”

She laid her hand over his and wrinkled her face in a smile, the jewel in the bridge of her nose scrunching against her eyebrows. “Are you certain you don’t have premonitions, Mace?” 

He shook his head with fond exasperation. Not premonitions, only trust in the Force. They looked out over the village, the stone huts poking out of the grass like great grey beehives. Shmi emerged from one of them, a basket on her hip, and Ahsoka ran up to her with a fistful of wildflowers. Mace exhaled slowly through his nose, and Depa knew he had made a decision.

“We may never be safe. But I think it’s time we move the children onto _The Crucible_.” 

Depa moved to her feet. “I’ll call Master Hyuang and ask him to start the evacuation.”

***

The ship jolted, startling Anakin awake. He and Nahdar started up from where they’d been leaning on each other, but Bant was already standing at alert. The padawans scrambled to their feet, and Avee beeped and whirred as she hovered around them.

“What’s happening, master?” 

“We’re coming into port now.”

Nahdar smiled. “That was easy.”

“Careful, padawan,” Bant said. “We aren’t to the queen yet.”

“We made it halfway across the galaxy without trouble. What could go wrong?”

Anakin stretched. “Once we land, we can—" The ship banked hard, and the Jedi grabbed onto the crates to keep from being flung across the hold. “What is—“

Bant paused and tilted her head. “I think that’s our cue to leave.”

“What?”

The knight ran to the cargo bay door and hit the controls. The doors groaned and shuddered open. Sunlight and humid air poured into the hold, and the wind whipped by. The ship flew low over a long lake, and in the distance, there was a city of green-domed buildings along the cliff-lined shore. Naboo. Anakin raised one fist in the air. “Whoo!”

A pair of gold Nubian fighters whizzed by, and Anakin felt a thrill go through him at the speed and grace of them, even if they didn’t mean anything good. They couldn’t get caught by the authorities before they talked to Padme. Jedi were technically protected in Separatist space—they’d kept up with the news during supply trips to nearby Lothal cities—but Dooku was still in charge and very much a Sith Lord. If they got turned over to him before they got Padme’s help, they’d all probably die. Or get tortured and then die. Anakin wasn’t very clear on how Sith worked, but he knew the story ended with everybody dead. 

The ship banked again and a distracted Anakin slammed into a tower of crates. Avee shrieked and pinched after him with her claws but missed, and Nahdar hurtled into him. 

“Oof.”

“Sorry.” 

The boys caught hold of each other as they fought to keep their feet under them, and Avee swung back and forth while the ship pitched around her.

The cargo shifted hard, and one of the boxes cracked, spewing a faint cloud of orange dust. Spice. 

“Oh, kriff.” Anakin gripped Nahdar’s arm tighter. “They’re smugglers.”

Nahdar’s eyes widened with realization then narrowed. With a flick of his wrist, he ignited his lightsaber and sliced through the crate. A plume of orange spice burst out the hold doors like an exhaust vent. “There’s our cover.” 

“Less talking,” Bant shouted from the exit. “More jumping!” 

Nahdar cut through a swath of crates, and three more orange clouds trailed from the ship. The padawans stumbled through the cloud to Bant’s side. 

“Quick, Avee.”

The three Jedi leaped. For a second the wind howled in Anakin’s ears, and water rushed up to meet him. Panting, he flipped himself around and got his feet under him just in time to plunge into the lake. Cold water engulfed him; a cloud of bubbles and sudden dark obscured his vision. He held his breath and tried not to panic. 

He knew how to swim. He did. Obi-Wan had taught him in the lake on Serenno, and he’d practiced on Lothal, but the pressure in his ears and on his lungs from submerged just wasn’t natural. There were so many bubbles--where had the surface gone?

Someone grabbed his arm, and he flinched, but Bant emerged from the dim green water, looped an arm under his, and dragged him along at uncanny speeds. Just as Anakin’s lungs started to burn, the knight pulled him to the surface. Sputtering, Anakin gulped for air and kicked hard to keep himself afloat. 

“You all right?”

“Yeah.” He coughed and wiped at his eyes. “Thanks.” 

She smiled. “Let’s try to avoid the smuggler’s ship next time.”

He grinned and paddled to the cliff face to hold onto the slick rocks. “I’ll do my best, master.” 

Avee skimmed along the surface of the lake and chirped nervously. Anakin raised his face higher out of the water to look up at her. “Hey, hey, we’re okay. See? Just don’t get too wet.” 

They floated in the shade of the cliffs, the city overhead and the Nubian fighters chasing the freighter trailing the last of the spice like exhaust fumes.

Nahdar surfaced beside them and bobbed low in the water as he moved his arms and legs with relaxed ease. “Now what do we do? They will be watching for us in the city.”

Anakin shook his head and pointed to the Theed palace further down the shore. Its domed roofs shone dark green and gold in the late afternoon sun, perched high above the lake with ribbon waterfalls fluttering down in a mess of rainbows and mist. As stable and majestic as he remembered. “There’s a secret way in under those waterfalls. It’ll take some climbing to get to it, but the mist will hide our approach. The passage leads straight into the palace, and we can find the queen from there.”

Bant looked surprised. “How do you know that?”

“I had a lot of time to explore after the Battle of Naboo. Before things went sideways.” 

Nahdar dipped his face under the water and exhaled slowly then raised his head and blinked once. “And you are certain she’ll help us?”

Anakin nodded without hesitation. “She’ll help us find Obi-Wan. She’s got to.” 

*** 

The queen, the Hand, and the handmaidens strolled the gardens of Theed Palace in the cool of the evening. Sabe wore black and crimson royal regalia--Padme would not don it again until the danger was passed, the one concession Obi-Wan had her handmaidens had persuaded the stubborn queen to. Also with them were Rabe and Padme in their red-hooded handmaiden’s dress, stewing quietly at his side. The sky overhead dipped into orange, and the setting sun cast thick shadows across the carefully maintained gardens. 

As they walked, Obi-Wan noted the placement of the concealed guards they passed and the visible ones. Captain Typho had placed them well, but for all the peace in the garden and all their preparation and planning, Obi-Wan couldn’t shake the feeling of impending danger. 

He tucked his helmet tucked under one arm as he kept his pace to a casual stroll. “Your majesty.” All of the women looked at him, but he was careful to keep his attention on Sabe in case they had any unwanted observers. “You ought to consider Representative Binks’ suggestion.” 

Rabe threw an irritated glance his way, and Padme bristled beside him. “The queen has thanked the representative for his concern, but she has worked for five years to see that the Peace of Mandalore is upheld. She will not hide in the lake country while we stand on the brink of war.”

“Amidala’s life is at risk.”

“And will be again, Master Kenobi. I don’t like this idea of hiding.” 

“Sometimes—“ His tone dipped toward reproof. “—we must set aside our personal wishes and do as is requested of us.” 

“Personal wishes?” Sabe stopped short, her delicately painted chin raised. “I was not aware the count had sent you to lecture me.”

Obi-Wan smiled apologetically. “It is not meant as a lecture, your majesty. Only an appeal to the reasonable nature that has kept the CIS from straying these past years. I dread to think what should become of us if something happened to you.” 

She shared a look with Padme and some unseen communication passed between them before the three women fixed him a dour look. “Very well,” said Sabe. “I will consider it.”

Obi-Wan returned the smile. “That is all I ask…” The Force tremored, and he paused and turned his head toward it. It felt half-familiar, unsteady, and just out of his sight. He frowned. 

“Master Kenobi?” asked Padme.

“Excuse me, my lady. I must speak with Captain Typho.” With a bow, he stepped away from the retinue and slid his helmet on. Then he turned from the main path and climbed the stairs to the long balconies that ran the length of the garden on both sides, lined with pillars and windows into the palace. Theed was open and airy, full of light and open space, but he’d spent enough time lurking in shadows to see the myriad dim corners where an assassin might hide. Captain Typho’s guards had overlapping vantage points on the queen and her party at all times, but Obi-Wan could not afford to trust them. 

The White Hand paced along the second-floor railing, keeping one eye on the queen below. 

The Force tremored again. That nagging familiarity blunted and blurred with danger. Obi-Wan shot the captain a look where he was positioned on the far balcony, but Typho shook his head once. 

Nothing then. 

He’d have to be on guard. 

***

Caedus let the guard slide off his lightsaber blade and crumple to the ground in the heap. The human hadn’t had a chance to cry out, let alone reach for his weapon. Death wafted in the Force, and Caedus took a deep breath. From his pocket, he produced a flattened droid that he activated, and from its shell, it unfolded a dozen needle-like arms and pinchers. It floated to the lock and drilled through the durasteel cover. The door hissed open, revealing the secret flight of stairs his master had promised. How Sidious knew the inner working of Theed so intimately, it was not Caedus’ role to guess. Not yet. He'd killed to get what he had--other Jedi. Other rivals. He'd crushed Pong Krell under his own heel and thrown him aside to become Caedus. What was a queen to that?

Once he killed Amidala and brought the White Hand’s head back to Sidious, he would be rewarded. He had chosen the winning side after all. 

Caedus bowed his bulky frame, his four arms held close to his body, and the slicer droid clung spider-like to his back as he began the long climb to the palace. 

***

They had been climbing forever. Still dripping from their ascent up the cliff face, Anakin kept one hand on the wall. Bant’s lightsaber and Avee’s headlamp only gave so much light in the little staircase, and the steps were mossy and damp and uneven. His boots were soggy, and the humidity wasn’t helping him dry any faster, so he climbed slow. If he slipped, he didn’t want to tumble all the way to the bottom.

The staircase wound round and round and round, and they’d passed the exit to the hangar bay a while ago. Anakin took two more steps and ran into a locked steel door. The waterfall roar from the other side of the staircase wall muffled their steps and hard breathing, but it made talking harder too. Bant laid a webbed hand on his shoulder and pointed to the wall then shrugged.

Anakin gestured for her to wait and ran his hands over the cool door. There wasn’t a locking mechanism accessible from this side, which meant Avee couldn’t pick it, but if he could just find it with the Force… there. 

Some internal mechanism clicked and whirled, and the door slid open. 

Anakin stuck his head out and peered around. They were outside again, on one of the green-domed roofs. The sun was setting now, and the roof reflected the light in a golden haze.

From below drifted voices that sounded a little familiar, so Anakin hopped out of the secret passage and gestured for Bant and Nahdar to follow close behind. Carefully balanced, they made their way to the edge of the roof and peered down at the gardens where the queen was walking with her handmaidens. He remembered these gardens. The smell of the roses, the mist from the fountains as he’d followed Padme and her handmaidens around while Obi-Wan argued with Yoda and the Council. That felt like a really long time ago.

He peered closer in the dying light. He could see her there, walking behind the queen in a red handmaiden’s dress. One of the others must have been pretending to be the queen today because Padme Amidala walked behind the queen in a red handmaiden’s dress. She was as beautiful as he remembered, the sunlight shining off her like a halo. An angel. 

“Hi,” he whispered. 

“Hi? We are right here,” Nahdar hissed back. 

Anakin felt his face go red, and he looked away. 

As the queen and her party left the hall and entered the throne room, another person caught Anakin’s eye. A man in white with a white helmet stalking along the balcony that overlooked the garden. He was cold. Strong in the Force like a tempered steel blade as he passed through the shadows of the marble pillars, and two silver lightsabers glinting at his belt. There was something familiar about him, something in his deliberate stride that reminded Anakin of Lothal wolves. 

The padawan eased his shields up, shrank back into the shadows. He wasn’t sure who the masked man was—a Jedi? Had Padmé found another Jedi and offered him sanctuary? Either way, it didn’t seem like a good idea to catch his attention.

In the shade of one of the pillars, the man paused and turned his head. Avee thunked down onto the roof and wrapped her arms around her chassis. Anakin shrank further back, letting the quiet and the dark encompass him. Willed the man to overlook him.

The helmeted man stood a moment longer then returned to stalking along the railing.

Once the man passed the Jedi’s hiding place, Anakin gestured to his friends. “Wait here.” Then he leaped down beside a pillar, hidden in its deep shadows. A quick glance up at the balcony told him the man in white hadn’t spotted him. 

Padme passed by his hiding place. He had to get her attention. He had to talk to her. 

“Psst.” 

Padme walked on, almost past him. Anakin raised his hand and caught at her train with the Force. She stutter-stepped and looked back at her skirt, and Anakin waved slightly. “Psst. Padme.”

She jerked her head toward him and froze. He grinned lopsidedly. “Hi.”

Her mouth fell open. “Anakin?”

The other girls noticed their friend had stopped, turned, spied him, and gaped at him too, and he felt his face get hot. “Uh… can I talk to you? It’s really important.”

The guards along the walls were moving. Their panic rang in the Force, and on the balcony, the man in white vaulted over the railing and strode toward him with a lightsaber in hand. Kriffing son of a sith-spawned--Anakin whipped his head back to Padme and stepped into the light with his hands raised. “Whoa, wait. Please don’t arrest me. I need your help.”

She nodded, and the queen held up a hand. The guards slowed then stopped but still glared at him with obvious distrust. The man in white stopped short as if he’d been struck. Anakin didn’t have time to think about how weird that was, so he focused on Padme and tried to look taller. He was taller than her, he realized, almost by a full head now. She stood a pace away, the other handmaiden close at her heels and the girl in the queen’s clothes a little further behind. 

A smile spread across Padme’s lips, and his heart skipped. “Ani. It’s been so long. How did you get here?”

“I kind of snuck on-planet.” He bowed stiltedly like he remembered Obi-Wan showing him. “It’s good to see you, Padme.”

“And you. You’ve grown.”

He blinked. “I… uh…” 

“You said you needed help?” A frown creased her forehead. She was worried. She was worried about him, and it set pins and needles along the back of his neck. She reached out a hand to him. “Are you in danger?”

“No. Well, yes, but not right this second. We’re looking for Obi-Wan. He’s been looking for us for so long, and he never found us, and I’m worried he’s in trouble. If you know where he is, it’s really important that I find him.” 

Her eyebrows went up, and all three girls shot a furtive glance at the helmeted man. Anakin glanced at him too, the maybe-Jedi standing perfectly still. The Force coiled tight around him almost like he was trying to hide in plain sight, and there was still a bite of danger to his presence. 

Padme smiled and put her arm around his shoulder. “Well, Ani, you can stop worrying.” 

The man took a half-step toward her. “My lady...“ 

“This is the White Hand. He _knows_ Obi-Wan.” Padme gave Anakin a warm smile. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to help you find your master.” 

Anakin bowed to the man. “I’d really appreciate it, sir. He’s been missing for a long time, and I’m worried about him.”

***

Obi-Wan held his shields tight, reeling from the sight of his padawan. His padawan here, on Naboo at the same time the queen’s life was in danger. There were no coincidences, so this had to be the Force’s idea of a bad joke. But he thanked the Force anyway that Padme understood the value of secrets and masks. 

He bowed stiffly to the boy and folded his arms. He had to get the boy away before Dooku caught wind of it. Before Anakin realized what Obi-Wan had become. Fortunately, the boy seemed entirely distracted by Padme’s arm around his shoulders. Good stars, the boy had grown. Last time they had been on Naboo, Anakin had been a child barely as high as Obi-Wan’s waist, and now he was a teenager a head taller than the queen. 

Five years. 

Obi-Wan’s heart twisted in regret for what he had missed. Five years… He pushed the feelings aside. All that mattered was Anakin’s safety.

Sabe stepped forward. “It is good to see you again, Anakin. We were about to convene for an evening meal if you would care to join us.”

Anakin brightened. “That would be great! I, uh, might have brought a couple friends.”

Beneath the helmet, Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. Who in stars name had Anakin convinced to sneak into Theed palace while the queen was under active assasination watch? He shook his head. Only Anakin.

“More Jedi?” Padme smiled. “Of course, they are welcome. But we have laws to protect the Jedi, Anakin. You don’t have to sneak around.”

The boy grimaced, and Obi-Wan knew he was thinking of Dooku. A fine mess Obi-Wan had walked into. 

Anakin waved at the roof, and two shadows leaped and landed crouched in the garden path. A probe droid drifted down and hovered behind them. The guards whipped toward them, blasters out, but Sabe waved for them to stand down. “It’s all right.”

The guards lowered their weapons, and both figures stood, two slightly damp Mon Cala with lightsabers at their belts. Obi-Wan’s stomach twisted. Bant. 

Kriff. Of course it was Bant.

His mind raced. They could not know who he was. What he’d done. They couldn’t. He had to get them all out of here and back to wherever it was they had come from. The White Hand would have to set up some kind of call with Obi-Wan to persuade them to leave him alone. If Dooku found out about them, if he found them--

Sabe turned up the garden path to lead them all inside, but the Force rang a warning. Instinctively, Obi-Wan threw out a hand, knocking her to the ground with an invisible shove. She cried out, and something metal pinged off the paving stones. Padme and Rabe gasped and ran to her, and Anakin darted after them. 

Obi-Wan sprang to stand over the queen and her handmaidens, a lightsaber raised but not lit as he searched for the sniper. 

Bant and her padawan lit their lightsabers and took up defensive positions beside Obi-Wan, and the green glow of them pushed the evening back. It felt right and like a horrible betrayal all at once. Of all the Jedi who could have found him, why did it have to be Bant and Anakin?

On the ground, Sabe gasped raggedly for air. Rabe had her hand over her friend’s throat, fear in her voice. “It grazed her.” 

“Is she all right?” Anakin asked. Avee moved to hover near his shoulder and beeped nervously.

Captain Typho crouched a few paces away and held up a thin metal dart. “Poison.”

“Is she gonna be okay?” Anakin asked.

“Get the queen inside,” Typho ordered. 

Bant turned off her lightsaber and scooped Sabe off the ground, gown and all, and Anakin grabbed Padme’s arm. The boy didn’t have a lightsaber, or if he did, he’d lost it. Obi-Wan shifted to keep them covered as he scanned the shadows. He would not miss a second shot.

The Force grew cold and thick, hanging over the garden like a fog. Obi-Wan slid into a fighting stance and gritted his teeth. “Everyone inside. Now.”

A shadow of a statue shifted, and a towering Besalisk stepped out of the dark. Dressed in black from head to foot, the four-armed assassin drew two double-bladed lightsabers from his belt and ignited one. The blood-red glow bathed the garden in deadly light, and the guards shrank from it even as they trained their blasters on him.

Fear flooded the Force, Anakin’s howling the loudest as he stood face to face with the nightmare that been hunting him.

Bant’s padawan shuddered. “Master.”

”Go," she ordered. "Now.”

As the others retreated inside, Obi-Wan stalked forward a few paces to put himself firmly between the others and the new Sith, and he drew both lightsabers. Sabe’s ragged gasps faded, but Anakin’s fear bloomed into white-hot fury. The White Hand curled back his lips and felt his own rage simmering as he glared at the intruder. He had known Gunray was in league with Sidious. He should have expected a Sith would try to finish what Maul had started. “You’re going to regret coming here.”

A laugh rumbled in the Besalisk’s throat, and the Dark Side fog thickened around him. “The White Hand. I had hoped to meet you.”

Obi-Wan lit both his lightsabers, their golden fire blazing in his hands, and he raised one in a dueling salute. “Then allow me to introduce myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life has been kicking my butt a little recently, so the updates will be a little slow for a few weeks here, but Obi-Wan, who's also having a terrible day, gets to be a BAMF next chapter, and I'm very excited. In good news, I finally downloaded a script to do the HTML formatting for me, so hopefully it will be a little more uniform from here on out. 
> 
> I'm @acollectionofhalftruths on Tumblr if you want to swing by and say hi!  
> 
> 
> References:  
> “All the lightsabers in the galaxy couldn’t save us before. We will never be safe. Not from danger. Not from grief.”  
> \- reference to Yoda's rejecting the Dark Side temptation in Dark Rendezvous. "Safe? I will never be safe."
> 
> “Sometimes—“ His tone dipped toward reproof. “—we must set aside our personal wishes and do as is requested of us.”  
> \- Anakin in AotC. "Sometimes we must set aside our pride and do as is requested of us."


	25. The Apprentice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan duels Caedus, and Bant does some emergency healing. Anakin goes looking for a fight.

Bant held the asphyxiating queen closer and watched as the White Hand lit two yellow lightsabers and challenged the towering Sith. The Dark Side howled in her ears, demanding blood. She didn’t know who—or what—the White Hand was, but he was standing against the Sith and right now that was all that mattered.

The Besalisk lunged, red blades raised. The White Hand sprang to meet him. The two collided in a flurry of blows and color, trading blows faster than her eye could track.

The human captain gestured toward the palace. “This way, quickly.”

Nahdar raised his lightsaber even as his voice trembled. “Master...”

What master could not be proud of his courage? She hated to run from a fight, wasn't entirely sure they could trust this White Hand, but the Sith seemed occupied for now, and she had other things to worry about. She had promised to bring Anakin and Nahdar home safe. She jerked her head. “Padawans. With me.”

And she hoisted the queen into her arms and ran after the captain, the boys and the handmaidens close at her heels. The captain led them into the palace, and the crashing of lightsabers faded. Choking, the queen shuddered in Bant’s arms and gripped her damp tunic. A thin crimson line ran from a nick in the young woman’s throat to stain her gown. She was young, dying, but defiance flickered in her face as she fought the poison. Bant shifted her higher in her arms. “It’s going to be all right, your majesty.” Then to the captain, “We need to get her to a medic.”

“This way,” he said, blaster in hand.

Bant glanced back for the padawans, and Nahadar and Anakin ran with her, the two handmaidens keeping up. Anakin caught one girl’s hand and practically dragged her after him with surprising familiarity, but he had told the younglings about the brave Naboo handmaidens who had been his friends.

The captain led them down a flight of stairs, but the queen made a strangled noise and convulsed, and the Force shuddered around her. Bant slid to a stop and eased the young woman to the ground.

“What are you doing? We have to get her to the medic.” one of the handmaidens demanded.

“She won’t make it to the medics.” I have to help her now.” Bant tore the collar of the queen’s dress, baring her throat, then laid one webbed hand over the cut and another on the queen’s forehead.

“Don’t worry, miss,” said Nahdar. “My master is a healer. The best.”

Well, she wasn’t sure she’d call herself “the best,” but she was what they had, and it would have to be enough. Focusing, she shut her eyes and ignored the sound of the guards encircling them. As it had a thousand times before, the Force rose to her call, flowed around her and in her and through her into the queen.

“Is she going to be all right?” asked the handmaiden still holding Anakin’s hand.

“She’ll be fine, Padme,” Anakin answered. “Bant will save her.”

Bant focused on paralyzed tissue, on helping the queen’s body fight the poison. Potent and strange like ice frosting over the girl’s organs. She had seen this poison before, on a mission with Master Tahl and Master Jinn and Obi-Wan, and it would not go easily, but it would go. Thank the Force the queen had only been nicked. A webbed hand touched her shoulder, and Nahdar’s presence joined her own, sinking them deeper into the Force, and it closed over them like cool water that muffled the chaos and the fear. All around them there was darkness, thick and endless and cold, but it would not carry them away.

Queen Amidala had to live.

***

Obi-Wan led the Sith around the garden, spinning and parrying. He had a vague sense of having been here before—facing down a Sith warrior bent on killing Queen Amidala. But this wasn’t Maul, and he wasn’t a padawan anymore.

The Sith swung, swiped with both sabers in a blur of light. Obi-Wan fell back, deflected, dodged, his footwork carrying him always out of reach, red blades cutting the air where he’d stood a second before. The Besalisk was tall and powerful and fast, but Obi-Wan had too much to do to die today, and the thrill of the fight coursed through him. He'd dueled Dooku more times than he could count--had even won a few times--but he hadn't dueled like this in years. He parried another wild blow and switched to offensive, driving the Sith back. This new apprentice was stronger than Maul but less precise, not as fast, but there was something familiar about his form. Obi-Wan didn’t like familiarity--anymore it meant old enemies. Loose ends.

This Sith had threatened the queen, endangered Anakin and Bant just by being in the same system. Obi-Wan needed this assassin alive. He needed answers. He parried with both blades and nicked his opponent’s forearm.

At the sudden cut, Sith roared and swiped from all sides. Obi-Wan flipped backward and landed atop a stone bench, and as it tipped under his weight, he launched it into his enemy. The bench slammed into the Besalisk and his blades then fell in three smoldering pieces to the ground.

A growl reverberated in the Beselik’s throat. “Scared, Hand?”

Obi-Wan flourished his saber. “Hardly. Your fear is loud enough for the both of us.”

A red blade aimed to bisect him, but he Force-shoved the Sith back halfway across the garden, and the Besalisk drove both sabers into the ground to catch himself, angry, glowing gouges marking his trail. Twirling his right lightsaber, Obi-Wan stalked forward. “I am curious though. You seem to know me, but have we met? In a sewer, perhaps?”

The Sith spun, but instead of a lightsaber, a foot slammed into Obi-Wan’s helmet, and he flew back onto the balcony and rolled to his feet. He rolled his neck and grimaced at the pain. That had hurt.

The Sith leaped onto the balcony and landed hard enough to crack the tiles. He stood and pointed one lightsaber at Obi-Wan. “I am Caedus. The true apprentice.”

Caedus. An apprentice. Now they were getting somewhere. Obi-Wan rolled one shoulder. “Oh, are there many of you?”

“Not once I kill you.” Caedus swung for his head, but Obi-Wan was gone, and the screaming blades carved through the floor-to-ceiling windows instead, showering them both in glass shards. They scattered the ground like ice and caught the last remnants of sunlight on their sharp edges.

Obi-Wan raised his hand, and the shards lifted off the ground in a swirling, refractive mass then flew at Caedus. The Sith cursed and retreated, spinning his lightsabers to deflect the glass attack. The shards disappeared, nothing more than sand and smoke. Blood dribbled from a dozen tiny cuts on Caedus’ cheek. “I am going to cut out your tongue, White Hand, and deliver it to my master alongside the queen’s seditious head.”

Obi-Wan grinned and raised one lightsaber over his head. “You can try.”

***

Bant was amazing. Anakin watched in awe as the Mon Cala drew the poison out of Sabe. He’d seen her do healing before, setting broken bones and healing burns and cuts. He’d certainly needed her help enough times--but there weren't exactly a lot of people getting poisoned on Lothal. The Force curled around Bant and Nahdar, and he knew that wherever they had gone, they wouldn’t be able to hear him. Padme held tight to his hand, and he realized his palms were sweaty, but he didn’t want to let go.

“What is she doing?” The captain demanded. He kept looking around, on guard against whatever else the Sith might send after them.

“She’s a healer,” Anakin said. “If anyone can keep Sabe alive, it’s Bant.”

As if to prove him right, Sabe dragged a breath, and a coughing fit seized her. Bant opened her eyes and rolled the queen onto her side in time for Sabe to cough watery phlegm and bile onto the floor. A flush of color rushed back into her face, and she pushed herself up on one elbow.

“Your majesty.” Rabe fell to her knees beside her. “Are you all right?”

“I—“ She coughed again, and dragged a wrist across her mouth. “I think so.” She looked to the Jedi and nodded. “You saved my life.”

Bant only nodded, and Nahdar removed his hand from his master’s shoulder. “We still need to get you to a medic as soon as possible.”

“Can we move her?” demanded the captain.

“Carefully.” Bant helped the queen to her feet. Sabe wobbled, but Rabe caught her and held her upright. The acting queen steadied then wheezed. “Captain Typho, the assassin—“

Somewhere in the distance, glass shattered. The party froze, and Anakin’s heart thundered in his ears. The Sith.

Anakin gritted his teeth, but Captain spoke first. “We have to get you to safety, your majesty.” He began to herd them along, and Rabe and Bant supported, half carried, Sabe down the hall. The queen craned her neck and suppressed another cough. “Where is Padme?”

“Here, your majesty.” Padme stepped forward, and her hand slipped from Anakin’s. “I’m safe.”

Sabe nodded, the pinched look in her face easing as she sagged in Rabe’s arms. “And the assassin? Is Master Kenobi--”

Padme inhaled sharply, and Sabe trailed off, but Anakin froze. Padme’s hand slipped from his, and his heart felt like it was going to explode out of his chest. “Obi-Wan is here?”

The handmaidens exchanged glances.

“Where is he? Why didn’t you tell me?” Anakin could feel his voice going up, getting louder, but he didn’t care. He’d come all this way to find Obi-Wan, he was not going to leave him again.

Padme lowered her chin, and frustration emanated off of her. “He asked me not to.”

“Where is Obi-Wan?” Bant demanded. Sabe still had one arm draped over the Jedi’s shoulders, but Bant had a sudden light in her eye that Anakin knew meant business.

“He wouldn’t have asked that if he knew we were here.” Anakin gave Padme a pleading glance. “You have to tell me where he is.”

Her gaze flicked past him, back up the stairs in the direction of the garden where the faintest crash of lightsabers echoed off the marble. Obi-Wan must have gone to help the White Hand fight the Sith. Anakin made up his mind. “I’m going back for him.”

“Nahdar.” Bant swept Sabe back into her arms and gestured to her padawan. “Take my lightsaber and give Anakin yours.”

The other padawan obeyed and tossed his lightsaber to Anakin, and the cool hilt felt heavy and certain in his hand. “Here! You will need it.”

“Thanks.” Anakin spun on his heel and took off toward the fight.

“Wait, that warrior will kill you!” Rabe cried.

But Anakin was already on the stairs, sprinting toward the howling Dark Side and the sound of battle.

***

Caedus swung, but instead of leaping away, Obi-Wan turned off his lightsabers and dove closer, spinning between the red blades and reigniting his golden sabers just in time to bury them in Caedus’ thigh. The Sith roared and knocked Obi-Wan aside, but he caught himself and rolled back to his feet, weapons ready. ”I am ready to accept your surrender.”

Caedus laughed. “Seems the count couldn’t beat the Jedi out of you after all. I don't have those weaknesses anymore.”

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw. “You seem to know a lot about it. But I’m tired of waiting.” The White Hand closed his fist and caught Caedus in a tight Force hold, pinning his four arms to his sides. “Now. Tell me where your master is, and who you are, and I may let you live.”

“I've survived the Reforging. You don’t scare me, Hand.”

“Oh? For a Sith, you aren’t very mindful of your feelings.” Obi-Wan raised his curled hand, and Caedus lifted into the air in an invisible grip then slammed onto his back on the ground, the marble cracked under the Besalisk's weight. His lightsabers rolled away. “Why don’t you look inward and tell me what I want to know.”

Caedus swore. Obi-Wan tightened his grip, just enough to hurt. He was going to get answers one way or another, but he preferred to get them before Dooku got involved, and he had no doubt his master would get involved. 

"Obi-Wan!" The White Hand’s head snapped toward the voice. Across the garden stood Anakin, a singing blue lightsaber in hand. “Where is he? Where’s my master?”

Damn. The White Hand turned toward him. “Go now, padawan. This is no place for you.”

“Where’s Obi-Wan?”

Caedus moved. Damn, he’d gotten distracted. Obi-Wan jerked around, but the punch caught him full on the chin, lifting him off his feet and throwing him into a nearby pillar. The wind burst from Obi-Wan’s lungs, and he slumped to the ground, eyes watering from the impact. Or maybe it was the spiderwebbed cracks across his visor making his vision blurry. His left lightsaber went clattering across the floor out of reach.

“Come to die watch your master, Jedi whelp?”

Anakin. Caedus--whoever he'd been--couldn't get Anakin. Obi-Wan pushed himself up, but Caedus kicked his feet out from under him and slammed both lightsabers down. Obi-Wan caught them on his single blade, holding them back more with the Force than his saber.

“Not so high and mighty now, are you, Hand?” Caedus planted one foot on Obi-Wan’s chest and tore the helmet off. It bounced off the floor twice then rolled to a stop at the base of the broken window.

***

As the cracked helmet rolled to a stop, Anakin stared at the White Hand. At Obi-Wan.

He was alive.

He was going to die. Both the Sith's crimson lightsabers crossed and burning at Obi-Wan’s shoulders, his neck. Anakin gripped his weapon tighter. He was going to lose his master again. He would not lose him again. Time slowed, the Force going perfectly still around him as Anakin sprinted across the garden, each footstep taking too long, each stride too short. “Leave him alone!”

Obi-Wan turned his head, and his eyes went wide. “Anakin, no!”

Anakin leaped, clearing the balcony and the broken window in one bound, Nahdar’s lightsaber aimed between the Sith’s shoulders.

The Sith spun, kicked Obi-Wan away, caught Anakin’s killing blow. Two red blades locked the blue between them, and the Sith laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down Anakin’s spine.

He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t afraid.

“A padawan, hmm? Trying to save the Sith.”

“I’m not saving _you_ ,” Anakin snarled. He threw the Besalisk off and attacked with a frenzy of blows, but the Sith blocked them all and backhanded him across the face. Anakin hit the ground hard, his face stinging, eyes smarting.

The Sith stalked toward him. “I haven’t seen a padawan with this much fight in a long time.”

Anakin gritted his teeth. “I’ll show you fight.” He called Obi-Wan's dropped lightsaber to himself and barely had time to think about why it was gold instead of green before the Sith attacked him again. For all his anger, the padawan landed a few hard blows before he fell back. He had to. Red cut at him from every side, and it took everything Master Billaba had taught him just to keep his head on and his feet under him. He deflected one lightsaber, another, another. All around him was red light and burning air as the Dark Side clawed at him. Pain blazed in his thigh, and he crumpled screaming.

A shadow passed over him, and the Force grew hot and close like smoke. Anakin scrambled away, and his leg felt like it was on fire. Kark--it hurt--but he kept his blue saber raised to ward off the Sith.

“We haven’t found any Jedi in a long time. You’ll make a poor addition to the program, but you’ll do.” The Sith reached out, but something bright and white slammed into him, knocked him down.

The yellow lightsaber flew out of Anakin’s hand into Obi-Wan’s, and the Jedi Knight stood between the Sith and Anakin, breathing hard. “You will not touch him.”

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin pushed himself to one foot and raised his lightsaber.

The air crackled and grew colder than Lothal at night, and Obi-Wan kept his eyes on the Sith. “Go. Now.”

“No, I’m not leaving you again.”

“Anakin—“

A red lightsaber spun end over end, whizzing across the room. Obi-Wan knocked it away, but it flew back to the Sith’s hands. The room shook as he swung—a blow that should have cut Obi-Wan in half—but the Jedi was faster. He slipped under Caedus’ lightsabers and sliced in a blur of gold light.

The Besalisk's two right arms hit the ground, severed above the elbow. He stared at his limbs like he couldn’t understand what had happened. The reek of burnt flesh filled the air, and Anakin stared in shock. The Sith howled and swiped at Obi-Wan, but the Jedi parried the wild swings and planted a heel in the Sith’s face. The Sith staggered backward, bleeding from the nose.

Obi-Wan shifted to a low guard and bared his teeth. “You will not put a hand on the boy.”

Anakin slumped to one knee, clutching his thigh. He couldn’t tell how deep the cut was, just how much it hurt, and his head spun a little. All around him quick footsteps signaled the arrival of back-up, and a bunch of security officers surrounded the Sith, blasters pointed at him.

“No,” the Sith shouted. “No! You can’t defeat me.”

Instead of answering, Obi-Wan raised his right hand, and the Sith’s remaining lightsaber came to hover in front of him. He considered the long hilt for a moment then, with a flash of gold, sliced it end to end, and the smoking parts clattered to the ground at his feet. Then he turned to the security team. “He needs to be detained in Force suppressing cuffs and completely restrained. Do not leave him unattended.”

“Sir, the Jedi protection laws—“

“Do not apply to him since he is not a Jedi. Keep a close watch on him. I’ll need to interrogate him later and find out exactly _who_ he is and _where_ his miserable master is hiding.”

They clapped bulky restraints on the Beselik’s remaining two arms and led the Sith away cursing The White Hand and Dooku, swearing vengeance, but Anakin didn’t care about any of that. He pushed himself back to his good leg and took a shaky breath. “Hey, Obi-Wan.”

The Jedi spun toward him, his face unreadable. He looked weird in the white suit and tabards all covered in blood spatters and grass and dirt stains. Was that why they called him the White Hand? He was older than Anakin remembered, and his blue eyes were harder and more tired, but it was him.

Anakin limped toward him. “Miss me, master?”

Obi-Wan crossed the floor in two strides and caught Anakin in his arms, bearing most of his weight, and Anakin gripped the back of his tunic and slumped into his master’s arms. Then the words came spilling out faster than Anakin could breathe. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you behind, but it all happened so fast, and then you were gone, and you never came to find us, and I thought--”

“Take a breath, padawan. It’s all right. How badly are you injured?”

Obi-Wan started to lean back, but Anakin held him tighter. “ ‘m fine.”

“That was foolish. You could have been killed.”

“Yeah. It’s good to see you.” He wasn’t crying. He wasn’t.

Obi-Wan rested a hand on his padawan’s head and sighed like he was letting go of something heavy. “It’s good to see you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan doesn't have cloaks to discard, so he's going through helmets at the same rate. Everybody in this galaxy has head trauma, and I worry
> 
> Real life continues to kick my butt but so help me i will finish this fic; we have SCENES to get to. Thank you all so much for the comments and kudos!! I'm so far behind on replying, but please know i see them all and appreciate you all <3 <3


	26. The Scattering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations are made, and everyone is going to have to deal with the fallout.

No sooner had security taken Caedus away than Amidala swept into the room with Bant and the other padawan and Avee close at her heels. Padme wore the queen’s regalia now, only one handmaiden by her side, but the set of her jaw was determined.

Obi-Wan detangled himself from Anakin’s hug and bowed. “Your majesty. Are you all right?”

“I am fine.” She gestured to the Mon Cala Jedi. “Thanks to you and the other Jedi, my loyal decoy is recovering in the med center now. I understand the assassin that attacked us is taken care of?”

“Apprehended. I only wish I could have stopped him sooner.”

Amidala cast a judging look around the destroyed room, the glass, the cracks in the floor and the walls, and concern creased her brow. “My handmaiden will heal. This can be repaired. Anakin?”

The boy hopped too quickly to his feet and winced but steadied and gave the queen a grimace. “I’m okay.”

“You need to see a medic.”

Anakin’s pain smoothed to a smile. “It’s not that bad, your majesty. See?” He limped forward a step. Some things, it seemed, never changed.

Behind Padme, Bant cleared her throat. Obi-Wan turned toward her and smiled, but he knew every moment she was in his presence was another moment closer to a point of no return. He had to get them all out of here. “Bant—”

“Obi.” She crossed the space between them and embraced him. He hugged her back. What could he say? That he was a Sith Lord’s right hand? That he was sorry? He didn’t know where to begin. But this wasn’t the time or the place for confessions, and she drew back before he could say anything he would regret. Beaming, she gripped his forearms. “It’s good to see you, Obi-Wan.”

“I’m glad you’re alive.”

She gestured to the younger Mon Cala. “This is Nahdar, my padawan.”

Obi-Wan bowed his head. “Padawan. You’re a credit to your master.”

Nahdar bowed, and the short padawan braid clipped to the side of his head swung forward with the same enthusiasm. “It is an honor, Master Kenobi. Master Erin speaks very highly of you.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at Bant and smiled. “Oh? She shouldn’t.”

She swatted him, and it felt like old times. Better times.

“So what’s with the White Hand disguise?” Anakin grinned. His droid settled on his shoulder and clicked her pincers nervously, but Anakin hardly seemed to notice. “Is this where you’ve been hiding from Dooku?”

At the mention of his master, the illusion fractured. Queen Amidala pressed her lips together and glanced at Obi-Wan. Another thing he’d have to explain later. He crossed his arms. “It’s been a complicated five years, Anakin. I—”

Bant laid a hand on his shoulder. “You can tell us about it on the way home.”

“Yeah.” Anakin tossed his lightsaber to Nahdar. “We figured that since you couldn’t find us, we’d come find you. We’re gonna take you back—”

“Don’t.” Obi-Wan held up his hand. “It’s best that I don’t know where the Jedi are.”

“What? Why not?”

“As I said, it’s been a complicated five years. I appreciate your coming to find me, but I will not be leaving with you, and I cannot know where you are going.”

The three Jedi stared at him, stunned.

“I’m sorry. Your majesty, if you would be so kind as to provide my friends with a ship—” He turned away, but Anakin grabbed his arm.

“No way. We came all this way, and we’re not leaving without you. We’re a team, remember?”

Obi-Wan smiled and put his hand on the padawan’s shoulder. Force, the boy was tall. “You have learned all you can from me, and you have become a fine Jedi.”

“But—”

“It’s late,” Amidala cut in. “Dinner is ready, and we would be honored if you would join us.”

Bant narrowed her eyes at Obi-Wan, and he offered an easy smile honed by years of dancing around politicians and Dooku’s machinations. She was perceptive, but he was simply better at hiding. They could not know. He would not let them. Finally, she nodded. “Thank you, your majesty. We will.”

They followed the queen into a dining hall far away from the room Caedus and Obi-Wan had destroyed, and as they followed, Anakin limped only a little and hovered close to Obi-Wan’s side like he was afraid he’d disappear.

***

_The Crucible_ sat at the edge of the village, the long grass rolling in brown waves around it as the wind rippled through the long blades. It would be autumn on Lothal soon, and the winds were changing to bring the harsher weather from the north, but the Jedi would be gone before it arrived. At least, Depa hoped so. She stood near the gangplank, watching the last of the younglings file aboard the ship.

In the village, speeders and pack animals were carefully packed with each Jedi’s few belongings. In a few hours, the place that had housed them would be a ghost town again, the Jedi scattered to the wind in small groups. They would stay mobile, stay in touch, stay hidden. _One day_ , Mace said. _One day_.

Caleb tugged on her tabard with an expression more solemn and concerned than his young face should have to bear. “Master Billaba?”

Depa crouched to look him in the eye. “Yes, Caleb?”

“Are we in danger?”

She hesitated and weighed the question. To be a Jedi was to be in danger, now more than ever, and she wondered for the hundredth time if it would have been better to turn Caleb over to some family on Lothal in hopes of hiding him there. But he was still waiting, and he deserved an answer, so Depa offered a solemn nod. “The galaxy is a dangerous place, youngling. But you and your friends will be aboard _The Crucible_ with Master Hyuang and Miss Skywalker, and you will be safe.”

“What about you?”

She smiled. “Masters Windu and Koon have some work to do.”

Caleb looked back to Kalifa and Ord who were helping Shmi pack up the last of the supplies and carry them aboard. Then the youngling looked back to her, and his dark brown eyes were wide and watery. “Will I ever see you again?”

“What does the Force tell you?”

He embraced her, holding tight and balanced on the tips of his toes. “Yes. I know it. May the Force be with you, master.”

She held him tight then let him go. “May the Force be with you, Caleb Dume.” She nudged the boy toward the ship, and he ran to join his friends.

Garen boarded next. He was the best pilot they had, and if—Force forbid— _The Crucible_ was discovered, he stood the best chance of getting them to safety. After him went Jocasta, her rifle slung over one shoulder, her pack over the other, and her precious archive tucked. She passed Shmi on the boarding ramp and nodded before disappearing into the ship, but the young woman came back down the ramp, her hair slightly askew, and a worried crease between her eyebrows. “Depa. May I speak with you?”

“Of course.” Depa gestured for the other woman to walk with her, and they made their way back into the village. “What’s troubling you?”

“I need to go look for my son.”

“Shmi.” Depa sighed and shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”

“I know you have other duties. Duties to the Order. But I feel such—” She curled a hand in front of her chest like she was trying to grasp something. “He is in danger.”

“And if he returns to us only to find you gone?”

Shmi just shook her head. “I have to look for him.”

Depa stopped beside the empty corral and folded her arms. She had felt the same worry for Anakin, a bird on a spit that turned in her chest for every Jedi on Lothal and out among the stars. “I understand, but I cannot go with you.”

“I know.”

“I cannot let you go alone.” She raised her hand, and Luminara waved in response and strode to the women and bowed.

“Masters. How can I be of service?”

“Anakin is missing, and we believe he may be in danger. Would you be willing to go with Shmi to look for him?”

Luminara blinked in surprise then nodded. “Of course, master.”

Shmi frowned. “But Bariss—”

“Will be safe on _The Crucible_ until she is old to be trained.” Her gaze flicked to Depa. “I will return for her, but if there is something I can do to help…”

The tight worry Shmi held in her body eased, her shoulders falling, and she exhaled. “Thank you, Luminara.”

The Mirialan smiled and bowed. “It will be my honor to help you, Miss Skywalker.”

The two of them loaded Shmi’s pack onto the back of Luminara’s eopie, and Shmi offered Depa a last smile. “Good luck with your mission, Master Billaba.”

“And you with yours. May the Force be with you.”

Shmi climbed onto the eopie behind Luminara, and the two of them rode from the village into the rolling planes. One by one, Jedi bade their goodbyes and departed, some on foot, others on speeders, and still others leading pack animals behind them. With a groan that spoke to its age, _The Crucible_ lifted off in a slow lumber of heat and fire and rose into the sky until it and the hope it carried vanished from sight. Depa stood there a long time, shading her eyes against the sun. Once she was certain they were gone, she turned to find Mace and Plo waiting patiently.

“Are you ready, my friend?” Plo asked.

Depa nodded, and they trekked to the mouth of the temple. Mace and Depa raised the central pillar higher than it had ever gone, a new door reveled. And so the Jedi scattered, leaving the autumn winds and the dying summer of Lothal in their wake.

***

Through the meal, Bant and Anakin stared at Obi-Wan as they ate, their questions practically turning the air around them with confusion and hurt, but it was better this way. Avee sat on the table between Nahdar and Anakin and seemed to be scanning the room for threats though she hadn’t seemed to register The White Hand as a threat. Perhaps Anakin had fixed her long-term memory too well.

Obi-Wan smiled at his padawan. “You did an admirable job against Caedus, Anakin. Master Billaba has been training you?”

“Yeah, she’s great.” Anakin flushed with pride then with shame, and he looked away. “I kind of yelled at her before we left. I shouldn’t have.”

“I’m sure she’ll forgive you. She is your master after all.”

“Yeah.” But he didn’t sound convinced and started picking at the greens on his plate.

“So if you can’t tell us what you’ve been doing, can you tell us where that Sith came from?” Bant asked. “We’ll have to report to the Council.”

“Of course.” Obi-Wan laid his fork on the table and stroked his chin. “Unfortunately, until I interrogate him, you know as much as I do.”

At the head of the table, a servant leaned down to whisper in Amidala’s ear. Obi-Wan extended his senses to catch it a moment too late, and the queen nodded and rose. The Jedi also stood, and Amidala gestured to the comm station near the wall.

Obi-Wan lurched forward, hand outstretched. “Wait, my lady—”

The hologram flickered to life—Count Dooku, imperious and stern as ever. Anakin’s face contorted in shock then fury, and Bant glanced at Obi-Wan with concern, and her hand strayed to her lightsaber. He couldn’t let this escalate any further. Instead, he gestured for the other Jedi to stand out of the comm’s range.

Dooku’s gaze fixed on the queen. “Your majesty, I was told you had been attacked. Were you injured?”

“Your information is correct, as ever, your grace,” the queen replied. “But the assassin was stopped thanks to the White Hand.”

He needed to get the others out of here. Now. Obi-Wan gestured for the others to follow him out the door. Technically, he ought to have been on the call, and there would be hell to pay later from the queen and from the count—especially from the count—but he would manage as he always did. The Jedi followed after, careful to keep out of the comm’s range, and he guided them to the door while the queen continued, “The assassin is alive and in our custody. Shall I arrange for him to be transferred to Serenno?”

“If you please, your majesty.”

Padme nodded, and Captain Typho issued some orders for Caedus to be readied for transport. Once the preparations were underway, Dooku spoke again. “Seeing as the assassin has been dealt with, I will humbly request that you send my apprentice back to Serenno. Obi-Wan and I have much to discuss.”

Obi-Wan shut his eyes.

_Damn._

***

“What?”

Anakin gaped at Obi-Wan. His teacher. His friend. Just standing in the doorway like a Sith Lord hadn’t just called him apprentice. Dooku’s gaze flickered to Anakin, even though there was no way the hologram reached far enough to see him. The Sith smiled slightly, cruelly. “Ah. Skywalker. I see you’ve found your way back to us.”

Anakin balled his fists and snarled. “What the kriff are you talking about?”

“He is no concern of yours,” Obi-Wan said flatly, stepping back into the room and waving a hand at the doors to Force-push them closed, but Anakin stuck out his hand and forced his way inside.

“Yes, I am.” He stabbed a finger at the hologram. “And you better watch your kriffing back, Dooku, because when me and Obi-Wan find you, you’re dead.”

Padme gasped, and anger flashed in Obi-Wan’s face. “Anakin.”

The padawan faltered at the rebuke and turned to his master. “What? He’s a Sith.”

“Obi-Wan.” Bant sounded like she was in anguish. “You didn’t.”

“I did what was necessary,” Obi-Wan said back, his voice flat again. Like the wind had been kicked out of him.

“Did what?” Anakin shouted. What was everyone talking about? Why the hell was Obi-Wan talking to Dooku like they were friends?

Dooku raised an eyebrow with a long-suffering look, that smug patience Anakin despised. “It seems you are behind the times, Skywalker. Your master has made his loyalties very clear these past five years.”

Bant covered her mouth with one hand, and Anakin’s mouth went dry. He turned to Obi-Wan who refused to look at him. “Obi-Wan? What is he talking about?”

They were all staring at Obi-Wan. The Jedi folded his arms and shook his head reluctantly. “I suggest you all leave. Now.”

“No. No, there’s no way. He made you do it. Obi-Wan, whatever he’s got on you, whatever he made you do, it doesn’t matter—”

“You have no idea what I have done.” Obi-Wan’s face was hard, harder than Anakin had ever seen.

“He’s right, Master Jedi. The Jedi have retreated from the world while Obi-Wan stayed to do what needed to be done.”

Anakin’s disbelief dissolved into rage. “You’re working with him? _Him_?”

“Anakin, be silent,” Obi-Wan ordered.

Anakin clapped his mouth shut so hard his teeth hurt, and his face burned. Betrayal burned in his mouth like venom, oozing between his teeth and down his throat. He hated this. He hated Dooku.

“Hmm.” The count sniffed. “It seems Master Billaba managed to teach you some restraint after all.” Anakin saw red, but Dooku continued. “My apologies for the boy’s outburst, your majesty. Anakin has been away a long time and doesn’t know that of which he speaks.”

“It’s been a stressful evening for everyone,” Padme said, clearly not believing any of them. Didn’t she know Dooku was a Sith? How could she not know? Who had else was keeping secrets from him?

“Indeed. Obi-Wan. When you come to Serenno, bring Skywalker with you. It’s high time we were reacquainted.”

Anakin jerked back a step, choked on his rage. Bant put a hand on his shoulder, her presence growing to encompass him and Nahdar, but it couldn’t quell his anger.

Obi-Wan’s jaw worked once then he bowed. “As you wish, master.”

A smile twitched at the corner of Dooku’s mouth. Victory. The hologram winked out.

The queen stood frozen for a moment then turned on Obi-Wan with carefully reined fury, but Anakin was faster. “What’s wrong with you? How could you?”

Obi-Wan folded his arms and pressed his mouth into a firm line. He didn’t even try to defend himself, just stood there. The rage burned behind Anakin’s eyes venom poured out of his mouth. “I hate you!”

Obi-Wan eyes widened, then he frowned and reached out a hand. “Anakin—”

“I hate you!” He sprinted off into the palace. The guards moved to intercept him, but

He could hear Nahdar running after him, shouting his name, but he kept running.

***

Obi-Wan took a few steps after Anakin, to catch up to him, to explain, but then the padawan was gone, Nahdar and Avee chasing after him, and Obi-Wan stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Obi-Wan.”

Bant. He kept his back to her. “This is precisely what I was trying to avoid.”

“You’re Dooku’s apprentice.” The Force shuddered with disappointment, but Bant just sounded tired.

“Yes.”

She fell silent, and he waited for the inevitable hiss of her lightsaber. But it never came. Instead, “Are you going to take Anakin to Serenno?”

“Of course not.” He spun around. Bant exhaled slowly then raised her head, and there was none of the condemnation he expected to catch in her face—the condemnation he felt in himself. She just looked tired, and he wanted to confess to everything. But the queen was still there, watching with narrowed eyes, so he laid the wish aside and stood straighter. “However, you do need to find Anakin, and you need to leave. Now.”

Bant crossed to his side and put a hand on his shoulder. “Nahdar will find him. We need to talk.”

***

Naboo was more winding than Anakin remembered. He sprinted down twisting alleyways and streets and leaped over walls and down terraces until he couldn’t run anymore. He stumbled to a stop in somebody’s garden, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. Hot tears streak his face and he scrubbed at them until his face hurt.

The garden was quiet and full of flowers all tinted orange by the setting sun.

Mom had told him once that anger was just hurt that didn’t have anywhere else to go. Depa said fear led to anger, but he wasn’t afraid. Not of Caedus and not of Dooku.

A quiet trill came from behind him. Anakin stood up, trying not to sniff, but it was just Avee bobbing down the street after him.

“Go away, Avee.”

Avee stopped a few paces away, rubbing her arms together and trilling anxiously.

“I don’t care. Obi-Wan lied to me. All this time he’s been working for Dooku.” He kicked a rock down the street, and it clattered end over end across the cobbles before bouncing off a wall and falling to the ground. “I hate him!”

Avee murmured and tilted her optic toward the ground. Anakin sighed, and his shoulders slumped as the anger drained out of him. His hands were shaky, and he clenched them until his knuckles went white. “All this time, he wasn’t even trying to find us.”

He folded to his knees and dug his hands into the black earth. It was cool. Steady. He missed his mom. He missed Depa. He missed Obi-Wan. Why couldn’t anything ever be easy? Why couldn’t they all just be happy?

He shut his eyes. “I should go back.”

The Force shrieked in his ear, and he dove, skidding across the ground. Something hit the dirt where he’d fallen. Something small and metal and—a dart.

Kriff.

He leaped to his feet and sprang over the wall and landed hard in the street. Two more darts whizzed past, and he dodged them both and almost laughed, but then a net caught his foot and electrified his entire body. He screamed and hit the ground entangled.

A lithe shadow hit the ground in a crouch and slunk toward him. “Well, well, well,” she said in a raspy voice. She crouched in front of him as he lay twitching in the gutter, and she tugged down the black cloth covering her nose and mouth to reveal deathly pale skin and sharp cheekbones. A smile twisted her lips. “Hmm. I was hoping for someone a bit more impressive, but you’ll have to do.”

Anakin snarled and lashed against the netting, but it electrified again and knocked him limp. Avee screamed and charged the assassin, but the shadow dodged easily and kicked the droid out of the air and into the wall.

Then the assassin grabbed the end of the net and activated a commlink. A bent, hooded figure flickered to life. Fear wrapped cold fingers around Anakin’s gut, and he wanted to run, but the net held him fast. The Dark Side held him fast.

She bowed. “My master. Caedus has failed you. The queen and the White Hand live, but I have captured a padawan. Shall I complete Caedus’ mission as well?”

The hooded figure turned his head, and all Anakin could see was a smile with too many teeth. “No. Bring the padawan to me.”

No. No, he didn’t want to go. Anakin lurched up and kicked at the net, but his traitor limbs failed him, and he collapsed on the ground. “Help. Obi…” 

“No one is coming for you, little Jedi. Get used to it.” 

The last thing he knew was being lifted off the ground as unconsciousness washed over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE. Sorry for the unintentional hiatus. Life just kicked my butt these last couple months, but we are back! We are finally getting to the plot points I started this entire AU for, and I am so very excited. Thank you for your patients and your kind comments!!
> 
> Also, I swear this is still a fix it, but we're just starting part II, so there's new problems to solve (but really they're just exacerbated problems from part I lol).


	27. The Time and the Tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone realizes Anakin is in trouble, but time and tide wait for no one.

Shmi stood at the public call terminal near the spaceport in the tunneled city of Pammat. The air tasted like soot and metal despite the air filtration system rumbling overhead. In the distance vast dry docks groaned and clanged around massive ships that looked almost complete, and Quarren workers bustled up and down the street behind her. The whole place made her insides twist, and she knew it wasn’t space sickness. 

Out of reach of the holo terminal’s view, Luminara leaned against the wall. Another tired traveler waiting for her turn for a call.

Shmi entered the frequency Anakin had written down for her a long time ago. _“For emergencies,”_ he’d said. _“Just in case.”_

Force willing, this wasn’t a mistake. 

The call cycled a few times then connected with no answer, and Shmi hurried to leave a message so the small toll wouldn’t be wasted. “Lady Jenza, I’m Shmi Skywalker. Anakin told me you were a friend of his a few years ago, and I—”

Someone answered, and the holo of a tall woman flickered on. 

“Miss Skywalker. Of course, you’re Anakin’s mother. How are you? How is Anakin?” 

Shmi’s heart faltered. She had been so certain… “Anakin went looking for Obi-Wan a few days ago. I thought he might have contacted you for help.”

Worry flickered in Jenza’s face. “No. No, I haven’t heard from Anakin since you both went with Master Billaba.” She rested her hand against her mouth and propped her elbow on her other fist in thought. “But Obi-Wan may be able to help find him. He’s due back on Serenno from a mission any day now, and I am heading there from Raxus in a few days. Are you nearby? I can arrange for transport.” 

Shmi glanced at Luminara, who looked conflicted. 

“I’m not certain.”

Something huge and metal crashed in the distance, and a line of dust fell from the tunnel ceiling far above. The call wavered then stabilized. 

“I know there was some...confusion around your leaving with Master Billaba, but please, believe me, Miss Skywalker, I mean you and Anakin no harm. If your son has already succeeded in his quest, Obi-Wan would bring him to Serenno to be safe.”

Shmi glanced at Luminara. The Jedi pressed her mouth into a hard line. Shmi didn’t like this either--not after what had happened last time she and Anakin had tangled with the Dookus--but something in the pit of her stomach told her that her son was in danger. If Jenza was still in contact with Obi-Wan... “Pammant. We’re on Pammant.”

Jenza’s smile brightened. “The CIS has an auditor on Pammant now inspecting the shipyards. I’ll speak to him and arrange transport for you. I’m sure he would be happy to help.” 

Luminara made an urgent motion with her head, and Shmi looked back to Jenza. “And… the count?”

Something indecipherable passed over her face, but she nodded. “He’s busy on Raxus for the next several weeks. You have my word that you have nothing to fear from him.”

The call ended, and Shmi and Luminara fell into step. “Seems your instincts were correct. Still, I don’t like walking into the den of a Sith Lord.” 

“It seems Obi-Wan and Jenza have been managing.”

Luminara gave a small smile, and the women merged with the passersby making their way toward the distant glow of the ships of war. 

***

Obi-Wan set his gouged helmet on the table and leaned against the furniture with his arms and ankles crossed like he was at ease when he felt anything but. He and Bant had retreated to his guest quarters, which he had thoroughly swept for any bugs several times since his arrival. Spyfare was in Naboo’s nature; he could hardly hold a few bugs against them, what with the galaxy being what it was, and they could hardly hold his wish for privacy against him, so he simply destroyed the few he found tucked into discreet corners and continued on his business. 

Bant stood across the room, her arms folded. Her agitation was palpable under her cautious shields, but she didn’t reach for her lightsaber. Obi-Wan appreciated that. 

“You should have left when I asked,” he said. 

“And why is that, Mr. White Hand? Because now that I know you’re Dooku’s apprentice, you’ll have to kill me?” 

She had every right to be wary. Surviving the purges and spending five years in hiding would make anyone suspicious, especially of someone like him. He smiled. “I don’t much care to make threats I don’t mean to follow through on.”

The tension in her shoulders eased a little, and she began to pace, a habit he recognized from their padawan days. Always the slight motion, she said, to better feel the currents in the Force. “So you’re Dooku’s apprentice, but you’re willing to defy him for a handful of Jedi you haven’t seen in half a decade. Won’t he punish you?”

“Fortunately, Dooku finds me more valuable alive and wayward than compliant and dead.” Which was true, as long as he kept his dissidence to himself. “I have Caedus. Amidala is alive. That is enough of a victory that he will overlook Anakin. I’ll tell him I was distracted from fighting Caedus and the boy vanished.” There would be a consequence. His master would take Anakin’s escape personally, but whatever retribution he meted out, Obi-Wan could bear. Dooku couldn’t afford to cut off his Hand.

“So that’s what you’ve been doing for the past five years? Playing errand boy to a Sith?”

Obi-Wan had seen enough bait to recognize it even from old friends. He was used to leading people in lovely circles, twisting them around and around until they felt like their questions had been answered without ever getting any real information. That wouldn’t work on Bant. It never had.

Instead, he flashed a smile. “Officially, the White Hand is a survivor of the Jedi purges. My identity is an open secret for a few--Amidala, Lady Jenza, the ruling council. As far as they are concerned, my role is straightforward. I fend off assassins, I deal with pirates, I reassure people the Jedi are the shining heroes they remember.”

“Officially.” There was a pointed prod in the Force, an attempt to see him more clearly. She had been trying for a while, but he was ignoring it just as pointedly.

“Officially,” he repeated.

“And unofficially?”

“Well, that’s a little less simple.”

Bant stopped her pacing. “Obi-Wan--” 

“I haven’t killed any Jedi if that’s what you’re wondering. You’re the first I’ve seen in five years.”

Bant slumped a little and exhaled. “Thank the Force. Then why--”

The White Hand only raised his shoulders. “Because I am an _apprentice_ , Master Erin. I know too much. Dooku may have been content to ignore the Jedi, but he won’t be if you start stealing his servants. Besides, I am more valuable to the Jedi and to Anakin where I am.”

The Force stilled. Bant turned toward him sharply. “You’re talking about…”

“Sidious.”

“You’ve aligned with a Sith Lord to find a Sith Lord?”

“I used the Republic’s resources as a Jedi. Why not the Separatists’?”

“That’s different.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. 

Bant shook her head and flexed a webbed hand, rolling her wrist contemplatively. “Besides, I saw you fight Caedus. You don’t need Dooku.”

“I’m flattered, but whether or not I can kill Sidious is moot unless I can find him. And now that he is sending his own apprentices after me, it’s better that you and your padawan and Anakin stay far away until Sidious is dead.” 

***

Nahdar felt it before he saw it. The scuffle in the alley lingered in the Force like a heatwave, distorting the corners of his senses, making his skin feel dry and cracked. He crouched in the garden and inspected the soil--a mess of footprints and scrambled impressions. 

He followed the general direction of the chaos to the wall and vaulted over it. On the cobbles further down the alley, he found burn marks in a cross-hatch pattern and two tranq darts embedded in some stairs.

Then he found Avee, crawling toward the palace on her many arms like a crab. She had a dent in her chassis and a crack in her optic, but she scuttled toward him. He scooped her off the ground. “Avee? Avee, what happened?” 

He looked around. There was no Anakin in sight. 

***

Obi-Wan stood and levitated his lightsabers over one hand, and slowly they disassembled into twin columns of parts orbiting two golden crystals. While the window shades lowered and the room lights dimmed, the hilt parts drifted into a new configuration around the focuser. The room went dark, and golden light filtered through the twin kyber crystals, throwing flickering projections like gold holograms onto the walls.

Bant let her arms fall to her sides as she turned in a slow circle. There were pictures of people; some she recognized, others she didn’t; maps of planets; blueprints of ships and buildings and droids; propaganda posters; documents that looked like everything from financial records to personal correspondence to legal codes. They scrolled by, slowly and in no discernible pattern. 

“What is this?”

“This--” Obi-Wan rested one hand behind his back and gestured with the other while the lightsaber pieces continued in their slow orbit. “--is all the information I’ve gathered on Sidious.”

It had to be years worth of data. 

“How did you do this?”

“It’s an old Jedi Shadow technique. The data is etched directly onto the crystal’s structure to prevent anyone but a highly trained Force-sensitive from accessing it.” 

That wasn’t what she’d meant, but all right. She turned to examine the kyber crystals. They appeared normal at first glance, but when she turned to examine them, they were covered in a gilt lattice fine as spiderwebs. What Jocasta wouldn’t give to see this. “A Shadow technique? Is that how you found all this?”

He walked past her and waved his hand, and new data flickered up before him. “I’ve spent the past few years building an extensive network of contacts.” 

“Part of your _unofficial_ work?”

The corner of his mouth raised. “People need someone to buy their interesting information, so it tends to find me now. Unfortunately, not every evil in this galaxy traces back to the Sith. Just plenty of everyday wickedness, with very little originality.” He stared at the information, and his smile turned to a scowl. “I can make out his shadow in all of this. I can nearly make _him_ out, but he is elusive. The Force will not clear.” 

“You aren’t worried about losing your lightsabers?” 

Obi-Wan looked surprised then smiled wryly. “No. I may have picked up other bad habits, but I have been cured of that one.” 

Bant turned back to the shifting data. When Anakin said they were going looking for Obi, she’d expected to find him hunkered down in a swamp or a desert somewhere, not strolling through the upper echelons and gutters of the galaxy with equal ease. The grin at least was familiar. “So what has Dooku promised you? Sidious’ head?”

“If you’re feeling very blunt.” His smile didn’t flag. 

She was feeling a lot of things, some of which couldn’t be repeated in front of any padawan. She folded her arms. “We have to deal with Dooku.” 

“We?”

“The whole galaxy is being puppeteered by Sith. If we can’t find one, then let’s deal with the devil we know.” 

He smiled, but something wicked glinted in his eyes. “And what exactly are you proposing, Master Erin? Kill the head of the Separatist parliament while the galaxy stands on the brink of war and seize control ourselves? Frame the Republic for assassination and start the war in earnest?” 

“It sounds like you’ve considered it.”

“I consider everything.”

“No. But there must be a way to remove him from power.”

“Technically,” Obi-Wan made a vague gesture. “Being a Sith isn’t illegal in the confederacy. On a few planets here and there, but not like it is in the Republic. Even if it was, Parliament won’t support his removal. That will require allies and time, neither of which I have in abundance.” He stood and folded his hands behind his back. There was something else he wasn’t saying, and she wondered how much of his loyalty Dooku actually held. What happened when Dooku started wondering the same?

Agitation rippled in the Force. Nahdar. Bant swung to the door as it slid open, and Nahdar stumbled into the room, Avee tucked under one arm. “Master!” 

Obi-Wan waved a hand, and his lightsabers reassembled, snuffing out the light. 

“Nahdar? Where is—“

The shades began to rise. Nahdar doubled forward, panting hard, and Avee dangled limply in his hold. “He’s gone. She took him!”

“What do you mean ‘took him,’ padawan? The queen?”

“No. Anakin’s gone.” 

***

Depa moved through the dark. The walls of the Lothal temple moved closer together until she was sliding sideways between the smooth stone walls, but they never constricted so tightly she stumbled or stuck. The cool stone ran on, and she followed, Mace and Plo’s footsteps a steady cadence behind her. The air grew closer and cooler until it was dense as fog, and the Force hung heavy on her shoulders. Depa drew a deep breath and reached forward, and her hand met something flexible and dangling. She pushed it up over her head and shuffled on. 

As she went, the passage widened and the ceiling dropped and faint light shifted and danced ahead. A humid breeze pushed back the tepid temple air. Depa pushed aside a branch and stepped into the light.

The passage was gone, and she stood on a broad, mossy branch with a green canopy stretched overhead and around--huge branches crisscrossing in a natural lattice that threw shadows this way and that. A flock of crimson birds took to the air, singing. Everything hummed with the Living Force. 

While Mace and Plo exited the tunnel, Depa walked to the edge of the branch and peered through the canopy, and through the leaves was a sprawling green world full of massive trees and taller mountains. A sea glittered on the horizon, and several stooped wroshyr trees bore up a city of wooden buildings winding up the trunks. 

“Kashyyyk.” 

Mace came to stand beside her and gestured to the city. “That must be Kachirho.” 

Depa squinted at the capital city and noticed several out-of-place metal buildings and a landing pad emblazoned with a spoked hexagon all nestled on the beach. She frowned. “Looks like the Separatists have made themselves at home.”

Mace scanned the horizon, his brow furrowed. He pointed to a distant island ridge. When Depa followed his gesture, she spied it--some kind of metal base interrupted the tree line, squatting among the plants like a defiant interloper. “The Republic as well.”

“I thought the Republic was forced to withdraw all of its bases.” 

Plo crossed his arms. “They were supposed to.”

Depa sighed. Kaashyyk was the lynchpin for a half-dozen hyperlanes in the sector. Whoever held the planet held a doorway to a third of the Outer Rim. In another life, they might have been summoned to Kaashyyk to ease the rising tensions. But that was another life. That wasn’t why they were here.

Depa crouched, produced the copy of the all-important list, and scrolled to the entries for Kashyyyk. There was one line dated to a few years ago. “It looks like our youngling is a few years old, born in Kachirho. We should find them quickly and move on. I don’t trust the Republic so close to a youngling even if we are technically at peace.” She tucked the commlink back into her pocket. 

“We will have to speak with Chief Tarfful,” Plo interjected. “He was a good friend of Master Yoda’s, but times have changed.”

“Let’s hope they haven’t changed too much,” Mace said. “We should move. We have a lot of ground to cover, and we don’t want to be caught in the open come nightfall.” 

Depa smiled. “Don’t want to meet a terentatek, master?” 

“After all the stories about Yoda’s encounter? Not particularly. But if I feel the urge to tangle with something that wants to drink my blood, I’ll let you know.” He leaped down to the next branch, Plo close behind.

Depa put a first on her hip and looked at the distant Republic base. A cloud rolled over the sun, and the wind stilled in the trees, and the birds’ songs went quiet. The hair on the back of Depa’s neck stood on end, and she braced herself against what might follow. Then the forest exhaled, and the sunlight returned, but the anticipation in the Force held taught as a drawn string. She hoped when it came loose, it didn’t tear everything down with it.

Depa leaped after them, and the three Jedi began their trek toward the city. 

***

Gone. Anakin had been gone for two hours. 

Amidala had shut down the spaceports and had everyone on high alert. Her curiosity about what exactly was going on couldn’t be staved off forever, but Obi-Wan would have to deal with that later. Anakin was gone. 

Obi-Wan felt the churning, ugly urge to lay waste to the projector showing Avee’s shaky captured holo of the kidnapping. But that would be counter-productive, so he laid his rage aside and narrowed his eyes at the shaky holo. 

He didn’t recognize the pale, tattooed woman. He had worked with the outer rim underground for half a decade, was familiar with most of the best assassins and bounty hunters, but he had never seen this woman before. It was a big galaxy, but her speed and precision spoke to training. Maybe even force sensitivity. 

Why could the boy not stay out of trouble for half an hour?

Obi-Wan folded his arms and spoke his thoughts aloud for the benefit of the Jedi. “If she’s no one, she’ll have to get rid of Anakin quickly, most likely to the Hutts. My network will inform me. If she’s working for Dooku, then Anakin is safe for now.” It meant Dooku knew Obi-Wan wouldn’t deliver and had decided to take matters into his own hands. That was another set of problems, but Obi-Wan was more familiar with this territory. If this was a trap, he at least had the home advantage. 

“He would have had to move fast.” Bant didn’t sound convinced.

“True, but he would keep Anakin alive. However, if she’s working for Sidious…” Obi-Wan rested his knuckle against his upper lip. “Either way, I cannot wait for the lords of the Sith to move their dejarik pieces.” 

“So what are we going to do?” asked Nahdar.

“I need to speak to our guest.” Obi-Wan summoned his helmet and donned it, scratched and dented as it was. 

“Where are you going?” 

“To interrogate the prisoner.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

He stopped short and gave her a cold look, but she didn’t back down. 

“I need to know if the bounty hunter was with Caedus, and luckily for him, I need him alive. Avee, with me.” Then he turned on his heel and strode from the room, ignoring Bant’s protest. The Naboo security team was loading Caedus onto the White Hand’s ship. The Sith was in a Force-nulling prison coffin, crisscrossed with glowing red lines, floating a few inches above the ground, reverse engineered from old Sith tech turned up during one of the White Hand’s unofficial missions. This was its first use. 

The White Hand raised a hand, and the security officers stopped at the top of the ramp. 

“Sir?”

“I need to speak to the prisoner.”

They saluted and moved to the bottom of the ramp to stand guard. The White Hand punched in his authorization code, and a few of the red lines crisscrossing the coffin-like box faded. The viewport cover depressurized, and it slid open, revealing Caedus’ bloodshot, golden eyes. 

The White Hand folded his arms. 

Caedus grinned. “I was wondering when you would show your face. I see you’re too much of a coward to do that even in your victory.”

“Caedus. Apprentice to Darth Sidious.” The White Hand raised a gloved finger. “Former knight of the Jedi Order.”

Caedus’ grin turned to a sneer. A correct guess then. Useful for Obi-Wan’s immediate purposes, but nothing good otherwise. A dull repugnance churned in his stomach, but he pressed on. “Pong Krell. You taught advanced combat techniques at the Temple.”

Caedus didn’t flinch. The White Hand folded his arms. “Did Sidious torture your allegiance out of you or did he buy it?” 

“You’d know, wouldn’t you, Jedi.” Krell’s voice was muffled through the prison walls, but the vitriol was clear.

The White Hand raised his hand, and Avee bobbed to his shoulder and projected the image of Anakin’s kidnapper. Bant and Nahdar were at the bottom of the ramp, not coming closer, but witnessing. Padme was not far behind them. She would be wanting answers, and it seemed he was running out of time. 

Obi-Wan turned his attention back to Krell, Caedus, whatever name he was using as a shield. “You will tell me who the woman is. My patience is running thin today, so please answer the first time.” 

Recognition flickered through Caedus’ face then his glare slid sideways even though Bant was well out of sight. “The Jedi bi—“

The White Hand closed his fist, and the prison box shuddered. “We must be civil in the presence of a queen. Try again.” 

“When my master—”

“No. You recognize her. Did she come here with you?” 

“I don’t need help to kill you.”

“Apparently you did.” The prison box shuddered again. “You will tell me.”

“Hand.” Bant grabbed his arm. “You won’t get any answers out of him.” 

He inhaled to argue then stopped himself. “Perhaps you’re right. I’ll deal with him later.” He let his arm drop to his side and turned to follow Bant down the ramp, but Caedus spat after them.

“Jedi cowards.”

The White Hand paused then folded his hands behind his back. “You misunderstand. _You_ have failed. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to parse your dramatics, which is why I’m turning you over to _my_ master.”

Caedus’ smirk slipped. Then he snarled. “You don’t have the guts to kill me yourself. Pathetic.”

“No. I am simply not feeling merciful.” He nodded toward the coffin, the viewport slammed shut, and the red lines flared back to life. If there were any curses spewed inside the box, they were perfectly muffled. 

The queen and the Jedi were waiting for him at the bottom of the ramp, so he decided to provide an answer before they could ask other questions. “He wasn’t lying about the woman. He knows her, but she didn’t come here with him.”

Nahdar’s eyes widened. “He didn’t say that.”

“He didn’t need to.”

Bant frowned. “One of his marks then?”

“He wants to eliminate the competition.” Which, if Obi-Wan had guessed rightly, 

“So she’s another apprentice?” asked Nahdar.

“Yes.” Amidala gave him a cold look. “What _exactly_ is going on?”

Bant gave Obi-Wan a look, and he knew she had the same question--Sidious? Or Dooku? He gave a small shake of his head and turned to the queen. “Thank you for your patience, your majesty. You’ve caught us all in a bit of a scuffle. The Jedi and I have worked out our misunderstanding--” He felt Nahdar give Bant a skeptical look behind his back. “--but you witnessed some old personal grievances that Anakin and Dooku have, and for that, I apologize.”

“Anakin seemed very distressed.” The royal makeup made parsing her expression difficult, but her skepticism was palpable in the Force. 

He raised his shoulders. “I’m more concerned with getting him back, your majesty.”

“Do you know who took him?”

One of the security officers interjected. “Sir. You have a comm message from Serenno castle. Lady Jenza--”

“I’ll take it.” He took out his personal comm and turned his back to the group while the message played.

“I’m sorry to bother you on a mission, Obi-Wan, but I hope all is well. Shmi Skywalker just contacted me. It seems Anakin is looking for you, and she’s hoping you may be able to help find him. I’ve asked her to come to Serenno. Please join us when you can.”

The message flickered out. If Obi-Wan hadn’t been wearing his helmet, he would have pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn. 

So it was Dooku after all. Ensuring his Hand's loyalty as the galaxy careened toward war. This was Obi-Wan’s fault for lying to his master’s face. He should have known something like this would happen, and if the count had Anakin and Shmi... Obi-Wan turned on Bant. “Shmi was with the Jedi.”

“She was.” Bant frowned with concern. “Something must have happened.”

“And nothing good,” Nahdar supplied. 

Obi-Wan clenched a fist at his side but bowed to the queen. “Forgive me, your majesty. I must return to Serenno immediately. I will be taking the prisoner with me.” 

Amidala raised her chin. “And young Skywalker?”

“Do not worry, your majesty. I will find him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Merry Christmas! 
> 
> I had to reread this whole fic to remember where some of the plot threads were, so hopefully this is semi-coherent. 
> 
> Obi-Wan is making a lot of wild guesses in this chapter and some of them are right, but others... well, he's getting a little ahead of himself, but we have to consolidate some of these groups asap. If I ever let anybody in this fic say "F*ck" it's gonna be Obi-Wan or Depa, lbr. 
> 
> The Force-null prison coffin thing is based on the Mandalorian prison box Maul is in during TCW 7x11. Obi-Wan’s dug up a lot of rando Sith artifacts as he’s been running around. There’s a whole wing in Serenno castle just full of spooky stuff because Dooku collects it.


End file.
